


Blue Autumn Love

by asparagusmama



Series: Seasons - AU season 5 [5]
Category: Lewis - Fandom, Midsomer Murders, Torchwood
Genre: Case Fic, Country Manor Hotel, Crime Plot, M/M, Oxford Brookes University, Poetry, Proposals, canon divergence at season 4, country house murder trope with a slight twist, mentions of Torchwood but knowledge of not necessary, originally written in 2010, religious homophobia, retired Midsomer Murders DCI
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-23
Updated: 2011-05-23
Packaged: 2017-10-19 17:31:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asparagusmama/pseuds/asparagusmama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lewis and Hathaway plan a romantic weekend away but on their first night there is a murder on their corridor of the hotel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fourth AU Season 5 for my daughter. The third is still bedtime story stage, and very complex to write, with 21 murders, only one which counts to Innocent, the others all Town not Gown, and the boys going undercover...
> 
> These stories began as stories made up verbally for my daughter, who has high  
> functioning autism, doesn’t sleep and is obsessed with Lewis. It takes 2-3 Lewis DVDs a night to keep her still and get her to sleep, so on holiday these stories were made up and told by me at night, totally exhausted, changing each time. Last June 2010, unsupported and not coping very well, I stormed out of the house in my wheelchair to the ring road, ready to wheel myself under a truck. Instead, I came home and began to write. I’ve not written fanfic since the 1990s,where I’ve had Star Trek TOS and DS9 and Dr. Who on the net and in zines, under various names. Please be kind to me. Writing these stories down is my only time to myself, as she doesn’t sleep and I’ve been forced to home educate.
> 
> Lewis and Hathaway belong to ITV
> 
> Oxford is owned by the University Colleges, The Crown, The Church of England, Oxford City Council and Oxfordshire County Council, the later who should be lined up against a wall, or even better, all magically transported into a pain ridden disabled body left caring for an autistic child and see how they cope with their savage cuts to care, support, school and charity funding....

Angela smiled enchantingly as she walked past Professor Summer’s open door. Indigo Summer smiled back over the top of the young man with the purple hair. So many Emos and Goths this term! She mouthed ‘later’. Angela hugged her photocopying to her chest, smiling secretly, as she ran down the stairs of the Gibbs. English Lit.’s photocopier was bust yet again, so she was going to have to borrow the one in the general Humanities open office. She bumped into Tom, Sociology prof, a genial man of about a hundred.

“You’re cheerful, Angela. Going somewhere nice for the bank holiday?”

“Yup. My pub quiz team won an all expenses paid weekend in a country manor hotel. And it’s the best weekend, what with the football. Dave won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“Well, have a great time. You work hard, you know, at home as well as here. How are the kids?”

“Jonno’s being posted to Afghanistan, but he seems fairly positive. I’m trying not to think about it. Shaz is happy in Banbury. Did I tell you she moved to Banbury? She’s got a job there. I don’t see the grandkids so much, but they’re much more settled, you know?”

“Good news. See you Tuesday.”

“See you Tom.”

*

Lewis practically bounced along the corridor, whistling, carrying a clip folder for Innocent. She popped out of the office to meet him.

“Whatever you’re on, I’ll have some.”

“Just happy at an empty case load and a some long overdue leave. Doing anything nice this weekend ma’am? Shame to waste this warm weather.”

“Mr. Innocent has persuaded me to go caravanning, so no, not particularly. Hopefully, the Oxford criminal element will give me a reprieve.”

“Well, if they do, please leave me out of it. I have plans.”

“Oh?”

“Private plans, ma’am. I’m entitled to a private life.”

“Who is she?”

“She?” Lewis asked innocently of Innocent. “Bye!” he headed down to the car park, muttering under his breath, “She!” with a wide smile on his face.

*  
In a dark room four figures surround a fire, burning in a huge golden bowl, similar in design to a Christian baptism font. In front of the fire font a huge alter, draped in a violet velvet cloth, containing four purple candles on each corner and a crystal representation of a fire. A bright painting of a fire in front of a sun, a bird, perhaps a phoenix, rising above the sun, all in reds, oranges, yellows and golds. Three are wearing robes of the deepest purple while the forth, standing at the apex, between the alter and the fire, is dressed in the deepest crimsom, his cowl hiding his face. He spoke at last.

“Has she repented?”

“No. She says she has the same freedoms of the people here and ours at home. That while she will always respect the Way, it is too restrictive, that she can no long follow the Way straight and true, but must deviate.”

“She said that?”

“No, I believe she said she walks the path the Creator unfolded for her, that He created her so she does not deviate.”

“So, she believes we deviate, rather than just turning her back to sin. A heretic rather than astray.”

“I cannot tell, Father.”

“Come forward Brother.” A fifth figure stepped forward from the back of the basement, out of the shadows, and knelt. He was dressed in a conventional suit. The ‘Father’ handed a bag to one of the acolytes, passing it through the flames, muttering a prayer in a strange language. The acolyte blessed the kneeling figure and gave him the bag.

“Go forward in light and strength. Follow the Way.”

“You know what to do,” the Father instructed.

“I hear and obey.”

*

Professor Indigo Summer was gathering her bags when Alan, American Politics lecturer, poked his head in the door.

“Have you time to talk?”

“I’m in rather a rush. I’m going for a weekend break in the country.” She grabbed her bags and a bundle of papers and began walking down the corridor to the lift. Alan followed her, jogging to keep up with her ridiculous fast pace.

“Sounds nice. It’s Cassie Khan. She came to me for another extension, and as you’re her tutor I was wondering...”

“Give it. She’s on chemo. That’s in confidence, mind. She is not taking the piss, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Shit. No. Of course. As long as she needs, until Week 11 and she’s sat the exam.”

“See you Tuesday Alan.”

“Yeah. Fine. Have a great break. My wife’s got me decorating the kitchen.”

Indigo made a face and stepped in the lift. Alan raised his hand as the door closed.

The sun shone on the Autumnal leaves in South Parks as Indigo happily skipped to the bus stop. Down in the bowl of Oxford the other university buildings shone in that sun so much like a fairy tale town the beauty caught in her throat. Indigo could never remember being so happy, and she had lived for more decades that she cared to count. Her phone ran, interrupting her reverie. Such a clumsy form of communication, still.

“Hello.

“Oh, it’s you.

“Yes, I’m looking forward to it. Of course I am. I can’t wait. Four whole days.

“Usual place?

“Oh. The corner. Yes. I know it.

“See you in two hours.

“Love you too. Bye.”

*

Sophie Mercer and Muhammad Ngoti watched, amazed, as Sergeant Hathaway gathered his belonging and prepared to leave. He never left this early. Sophie nudged Muhammad.

“Going somewhere nice then, sir? For the weekend.”

“What?”

“Well, you never leave so early. We thought, maybe your band was playing at a festival again.”

“No. No, I’m not doing anything really. Just, well, you know... Are either of you doing anything nice?”

“We’re going to a festival, as it happens. World music. Muhammad’s sister is in a Sufi group. African Islamic spirituals and stuff.” Muhammad winced slightly at Sophie’s naive, slightly trite description. “That’s why we thought...”

“Is that the one in Devon?”

“Yes sir.”

“Well, have fun. Our Flautist’s wife’s just had a baby. We were going to be playing.”

“How lovely, a baby,” squealed Sophie in a very atypical manner. Hathaway glanced involuntarily at her abdomen. She pulled her cardigan around herself in a protective gesture. He suddenly noticed how she’d switched to baggy trousers and loose tops over the past few weeks.

“Is the boss still about? Sophie needs to talk to him.”

“No. D. I. Lewis left about an hour ago. The Chief’s still in her office if it’s urgent.”

“I, er...”

“Or me.”

“It’ll keep.

*

Angela hummed to herself as she packed, cooked a shepherd’s pie, chilli and unpacked frozen pizzas, many six packs of larger and bags of crisps and corn chips. She tried not to flinch as her husband hugged her from behind as she bent over the freezer.

“You have a great time love.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“Yup. I’ll be fine. The lads will be round, we’ll watch the match and – hey, you’ve cooked for an army, I’m hardly gonna starve. You deserve a break, you know. You’ll only fret about Jonno.”

Angela was stabbed with guilt. Dave was a nice bloke, he didn’t suspect a thing. They’d been together for years, since they were kids. Not many boys stuck with the girl they got preggers. Look at poor Shaz. Why couldn’t she be normal?

“I’ll nick you the soaps and that.”

Dave laughed, “Don’t bother for me, I’m no poof.”

Angela flinched again. Did he suspect or was that just usual banter?

*

Lewis was packing when the phone rang. It was D. C Sophie Mercer. He listened to her very unusual request. When he was convinced it was genuinely her wish he pointed out Thames Valley were an equal opportunities employer and couldn’t see any problem. At least he hoped not, although her warned her she’d probably be ribbed mercilessly for the first few weeks. He added, almost to himself, he really hoped it was an equal opportunity employer. Sophie chatted on about her plans for the weekend and beyond, but Lewis didn’t mind, she’d always been a chatterbox, as well as a damn fine detective, if a bit impulsive. Caught of guard, he told her he was going to a country manor hotel spa retreat.

*

As Hathaway unlocked his car he heard Sophie Mercer squeal. She really seemed to be getting more girly. Was she in love? She hung up and smiled at him.

“You never did say what you were doing?”

Off guard, Hathaway told her he was off to an expensive hotel in the Cotswolds. Sophie smiled a secret smile and got into her car.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Sergeant.”

“I’ll try not to.” Hathaway giggled. Sophie thought sometimes her sergeant seemed so gay these days. “ Enjoy the festival,” he added.

“Well, I’ll try to, but it’s separate tents you know. I’m with his sisters and Mum. Mega traditional. Muslims make you Catholics look wild.”

Hathaway just smiled and said goodbye. Sophie closed her car door and checked her phone for a text.

*

One by one the Father and his acolytes remove their robes. For a moment there is a flash of blue and a shimmer and then four very ordinary men leave the basement of the Victorian house on the Banbury Road. An exceedingly attractive man in a Second World War great coat watches them from behind a hedge. At least he believed he was exceedingly attractive, and mostly was able to charm men and women into believing he was. He stays watching the building as they leave.

*

A purple VW beetle pulls into the corner of two streets in Rose Hill. Indigo leans over to open the door and Angela throws in her suitcase and bag in the back and climbs in. she unlooses her hair and laughs and Indigo pulls back out into the traffic, putting one hand on Angela’s thigh.

“Okay?”

“Easy. Better than expected. He really doesn’t suspect a thing.”

“And your actual friends from the pub quiz team?”

“Covering for me. They think I’ve got a bloke. They all think Dave is too old for me and takes me for granted.”

“He’s only 49.”

“And I’m 40, in’it.” Angela laughs. “Love you Indie.”

“Love you too, Angie. Chose some music. It should take us about an hour.” Indigo eases the VW out into the ring road rush hour traffic to the backtrack of the Scissor Sisters.

*

Lewis beeps his car horn and Hathaway emerges from his flat, travel bag in hand, dressed in tight jeans and two tees, a black Fried Frog over a navy long sleeved top. He’s gelled his hair up and looks 10 years younger than his is, and several hundred more shades of gay than usual. Lewis’ chest constricts at the thought of checking into a double room as a) gay and b) with someone young enough to be his son. What is he playing at? Hathaway climbs in the car and smiles and Lewis decides it’ll be fine. No one will know them and he’ll have to get used to it. The jeweller’s box burns a hole in his pocket.

“Alright pet?”

“Sir?”

“You call me sir once more this weekend and I’ll have to spank you.”

Hathaway stares out of the window.

“Joke,” Lewis says weakly.

“I know that Robbie.”

“Good. Chose some music. It should take us about an hour in this traffic.”

*

Dave is in the pub when he sees Emma and Mags.

“I thought you girls were supposed to be away at this hotel?”

“Oh yeah, we was but...”

“Um, yeah, I’m going down tomorrow morning see.”

“Er yeah, and my little one suddenly got a ballet exam, so I couldn’t go. You see.”

Dave frowns. “Yeah, I think. Angie wouldn’t be pulling a fast one on me? Another bloke?”

“Dave, she’s nuts about you!”

“Yeah, we all see that, you know? We’re all a bit jealous you know.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

He smiles to himself as he carries on to the gents. Unfortunately, his mate, getting the drinks in, over hears Mags say to Emma. “Shit, that was close!”

*

Lewis pulls into the car park and the same time as an old hippy purple beetle decorated with sunflowers. As he and James climb out of the car two women do the same. They smile faintly at one another across the car park. They then follow them in, up the stairs and to reception. Angela Smith and Professor Indigo Summer check in first.

“The name goes with the car,” James bites back the Sir. For the past few months he spent half the time biting it back the other half trying to remember to use it rather than Robbie. He becomes aware of people in the lobby and the restaurant watching them, but it doesn’t feel like homophobia. No, it’s more like... James catches their reflection. Robbie looks old and tired, and he’s over done the gel and foundation, the eyeliner and too tight jeans. He looks like a tart!

Looks like a tart and is being treated like a lady. He’s so lost in a minor panic attack it takes him a while to notice Robbie is carrying his bag and the key, stepping back for him to go in the lift first. He snorts and tries to flatten his hair, staring at himself in the lift mirror.

“Don’t. You look nice.” And suddenly he’s pulled into a kiss that breaks only when the lift door opens on an elderly couple, she with blue rinsed curls and twin set and pearls and he in chinos and a blazer and tie with a walrus moustache. They scowl at Robbie as they walk past, getting in the lift as they come out. Not them, not the kiss, just Robbie, as if he, James, looks underage. As the lift doors close the woman smiles at James. He smiles back, then follows Robbie as he looks for their room number. A couple come out of the room next to theirs. Both in their thirties, both in jeans and sweaters, holding hands and laughing. They nod to them as they go past. As they go into their room the two women who have arrived the same time as them emerge up the grand staircase. This floor is a mezzanine, overlooking the pool and sauna, with four suites along the corridor. The women smile, and the younger woman, with peroxide tresses and a floral dress speaks.

“Think we’re the only ones?”

Only ones what, thinks James, before he realises. Only gay couples. He’s in a gay couple! Has he really moved so far in accepting himself?

“Probably,” says Robbie, “although, they had a rainbow flag on their website.”

“Yes, that’s why I chose the place too,” agrees the older woman, the professor. Dark hair and eyes, smart skirt suit and blouse with knee high biker boots and a chiffon scarf in her hair. She has amazing earrings; James can’t help noticing, cut crystals in the shape of flames, prisms, catching the light and creating rainbows across her face.

They nod again in a friendly fashion. Robbie and James catch the sounds of girlish giggles and bed springs before they close their own door. Robbie dumps their bags and surveys the room before flopping on the bed. It’s a big room, king size bed, two easy chairs and a coffee table in front of huge plasma screen TV, a side table with the usual tea and coffee paraphernalia, a mini bar, a door to the side, leading, presumably, to the bathroom.

What now? Thinks James. He can no longer leave after a bit of kissing, no longer get out of the car or run from Lewis’ flat. He’s on a promise. He wanders over to the window, the huge French style windows.

“It’s a balcony!” he exclaims, looking out at elegant Inigo Jones style Georgian grounds, red and gold glowing trees covering hills behind, almost on fire in the sunset. “It’s beautiful,” he can’t help saying, trying to ignore the rising sense of awe and love at the Creator of that beauty, because he’s about to ignore that Creator’s instructions.

“So are you.”

James turns. “No I’m not.”

“You are to me, even if it’s taken me bloody years to notice.”

James snorts, not sure if he’s disbelieving but flattered or alarmed at the cheesiness.

“Come here.”

An order, James thinks. And obeys. He sits beside his boss, shivering.

“You know...”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I’ve never... Not consensually. Ever. I pretended, but the truth is...”

“I know. You’re safe with me.”

James notices how Lewis – how Robbie – is deliberately not touching him.

“We don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. And if you want to stop, that’s fine. Just say. You’re in charge here.”

“I don’t want to...” James begins. Confused, he stumbles over his words. “That’s not want I... I mean I want you to...”

“Come here pet. Don’t be silly. I know what you want, but you’re in charge. If you want me to stop, say so, if you want me to – you know – come out of you, say so.”

“But that’s not...”

“It’s okay. If you get flashbacks, don’t hide it. I’m here for you, okay. I won’t mind. We’re all the time in the world.”

James sighs and shivers as his boss kisses him, pushing him down on the bed, underneath, kissing more deeply, stroking his hair, every movement, every touch gentle and slow, like nothing he’d... How could he think this would be like being a child, being in that Russian truck, how... “Stop, “ he tries, experimenting. Immediately Lewis rolls off him and sits up.

“Okay?”

“I started to think about those bastards, but I’m okay now, I think, but I don’t know what I could...”

“Want to explore? Have a meal? There’s no rush, pet.”

James shakes his head and leans forward to kiss Lewis, pulling him on top of him, parting his legs and pulling him tighter to him. God! How many years had he dreamed of Lewis lying on top of him...

*

Dave was very, very drunk. Steve and Josh had just wound him up all evening, telling him you can’t trust women, they were all whores and bitches. After a while of defending woman in general and Angie in particular, he’d begun to believe them. Drunk and clumsy, he began to search the house for any details of this quiz prize and the name of the hotel. In such a state he fell against the bookcase and bumped his head. Not that bad, but he began to cry like a child. He curled up and slept on the living room floor, tormented of dreams of his Angie with some 20 something Brookes student.

*

The man in the suit sat in his car and emptied the blue velvet bag. He ignored the tools, but attached a small electronic device to his satnav. Immediately it started to emit a high pitched, rhymic bleep. He began to drive. Unnoticed, a four by four driven by the vain man in the retro coat began to follow him.

*

The sun had set. James lay curled around Robbie, staring out at the darkness, the deep darkness of the countryside. Beyond the lights of the car park and front, and the lights down the drive from the main road, there was nothing but the harvest moon and the stars.

“Okay?”

“Yup.”

“Sure?”

“Yup.”

“Good. Shall we get something to eat?”

James looked up as if Lewis were speaking a foreign language.

“You know, food? I’m starving.”

James laughed. “Okay,” he agreed. “And later..?”

“And later, we’ll try again. You’ll be fine.”

“Especially if you get me a bottle or two of red wine.”

“It’s a deal. But first, lets shower.”

“Together?”

Robert Lewis laughed. “Yes, pet. Together.”

*

Indigo and Angie watched the other gay couple walk into the restaurant. The older man relaxed and cheerful, the younger man biting his nails and looking terrified. He was quite pretty, if you liked that sort of thing, which after getting pregnant at 16 and 24 years of marriage, Angie had realised she didn’t. Bless him, was it his first time?

“Sweet, aren’t they?” asked Indigo, following her gaze. “Bit like us.”

“No way is there such a big gap between us!” shrieked Angie, amused.

“You have no idea,” Indigo replied lightly, as if a joke. “I’m hundreds of years old.”

“You must feel like it, surrounded by students all day. I know I do.”

“I meant, I think he’s his boss,” She changed the subject, nodding towards Lewis and Hathaway.

“Well, you’re not exactly my boss. I’m all the English Lit lecturers’ secretary, you know.”

“As long as you’re not sleeping with all of them!”

“No way. It’s you I love.”

“Glad to hear it.” Indigo picked up Angie’s hand and kissed it.

*

“Everyone is staring at us.”

“No they’re not James.”

“I’m sorry, you know...”

“Didn’t you have fun?”

“But you wanted to...” James lowered his voice, “fuck me.”

“Yeah, sure. Whenever you’re ready. Have more wine.” Lewis topped up James’ glass.

“Are you trying to get me drunk Sir?” James asked flirtatiously, twirling the glass in his hand.

“Oh yes, sergeant. And what did I say about calling me Sir?”


	2. A body is discovered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A body is discovered. the investigation begins. Lewis and Hathaway fall unwillingly out of the closet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the fourth AU Season 5 for my daughter. The third is still bedtime story stage, and very complex to write, with 21 murders, only one which counts to Innocent, the others all Town not Gown, and the boys going undercover...
> 
> These stories began as stories made up verbally for my daughter, who has high  
> functioning autism, doesn’t sleep and is obsessed with Lewis. It takes 2-3 Lewis DVDs a night to keep her still and get her to sleep, so on holiday these stories were made up and told by me at night, totally exhausted, changing each time. Last June 2010, unsupported and not coping very well, I stormed out of the house in my wheelchair to the ring road, ready to wheel myself under a truck. Instead, I came home and began to write. I’ve not written fanfic since the 1990s,where I’ve had Star Trek TOS and DS9 and Dr. Who on the net and in zines, under various names. Please be kind to me. Writing these stories down is my only time to myself, as she doesn’t sleep and I’ve been forced to home educate.
> 
> Lewis and Hathaway belong to ITV
> 
> D.I. Barnaby and Midsomer belong to Bentley Productions and ITV
> 
> Oxford is owned by the University Colleges, The Crown, The Church of England, Oxford City Council and Oxfordshire County Council, the later who should be lined up against a wall, or even better, all magically transported into a pain ridden disabled body left caring for an autistic child and see how they cope with their savage cuts to care, support, school and charity funding....

Later, well past midnight, Angie and Indigo fell back into bed, giggling. They’d been for a secret midnight swim, naked, to hell with possible CCTV. Angie had been amazed. She’d had no idea. Indigo was a fish. She could have swum or dived in the Olympics. Perhaps she had, in the ‘70s. Angie was hardly an expert at such things.

“That was one of the most fun things I’ve ever done,” laughed Angie, spread-eagled on the bed, staring up at Indigo.

“I adore being in the water. I don’t get the opportunity as much as I’d like.”

“I’ve decided Indie. I will leave Dave. So what if my family and friends don’t understand. I love you sooo much!!!”

“Oh God, I love you too,” replied Indigo, crawling up the bed, kissing Angie as she went. “And when you’ve sorted out the divorce, what do you say to a civil partnership?”

“I say oh yes. Yes! Yes Yes! Oh God I love you sooo much!”

*

Three a.m. Robbie Lewis really needed to be asleep, but that old friend insomnia had returned. Three times. Three times! Just to make sure, James had said. Just make sure there are no flashbacks, no fear caused by his childhood or more recent rape. Lewis didn’t think it was so straightforward. The abuse and rape was a part of who he was as were his beliefs. One joyful night, blind drunk, wasn’t the end of anything. But maybe the beginning of something. Lewis hoped so, he really did, but now, with James breathing softly next to him, he couldn’t but help remember his and Val’s first time. On the sofa, trying to be quiet so Val’s parents wouldn’t hear. And, of course, their honeymoon, the first time in an hotel, for both of them. What would Val make of this he wondered? They’d been so happy together, he was sure she wouldn’t want him to be alone. But with another man? The same age, roughly speaking, as their kids. For more than ever Lewis tried to work out how this had happened. How had his lanky, morose Sergeant ended up in his bed? He despised the kind of cop who had affairs with his, normally female, junior officers. But this isn’t an affair, he reminded himself, thinking of the ring in the box. It had taken him forever to find it, a ring neither feminine nor camp and OTT but with a diamond. In the end he’d settled for a simple white gold band with three small, square cut diamonds set in. He’d just wanted to see if James was really okay with this before he asked. He was retiring in just over a year; they could wait until then. Hopefully James would be promoted by then. God knew he deserved it. Unfortunately, the business with the Phoenix killer had left a rather huge black mark on his work record, despite how much Lewis had hidden, obscurated and downright lied to Innocent. Then there was Crevecoeur. Despite the extenuating circumstances and again, the facts Lewis kept hidden, James hadn’t exactly been forthcoming. He should have trusted him immediately. They could have arrested Mortmaigne immediately, and been given a clue to the motives of the murder.

Lewis pulled the sleeping figure closer and hugged him, vowing to protect him from any more bastards out there and closed his eyes, his breathing shallowing, finally about to fall asleep when he sat bolt up right.

What was that?

A high-pitched screaming.

A light was switched on.

The sounds of running footsteps.

Lewis climbed out of bed. James stirred in his sleep and mumbled something, but didn’t wake. Lewis hurried pulled on jeans and polo shirt, and having the foresight to grab his badge, went out into the corridor.

In the corridor the elderly couple and the younger one were milling about by their doors. The night manager, porter, security guard and a maid were all outside the women’s room. A second guard came out and threw up. Lewis pushed through the people. The manager seemed to come to life.

“It’s okay Sir. There’s been some sort of accident. We’ve called for a doctor and an ambulance. Nothing to worry about, please go back to your rooms.” This was spoken to the other guests too, over Lewis’ head. He discretely showed his badge and whispered his rank and name. He looked into the room as the manager nodded and then indicated that the security guard and he reassure the other guests.

Lewis could see the peroxide blond, still screaming, but hoarse now, the scream turning to a whimper as he listened. Another female member of staff, the night receptionist, had her arms around the woman. On the floor, in front of the king size bed, lay the older, darker woman.

“Has anyone touched anything?”

“Sir?” began the receptionist. Lewis showed his badge. The young woman shook her head. “No.”

“Can you take this young woman somewhere, get her some sweet tea and brandy please. You say the doctor’s coming. Get him to give her something to calm her down. She’s in no state to be interviewed now.”

“I...I...just came out of the bathroom and she...she...”

“It’s okay. We’ll get to the bottom of this. Was the balcony window open before you went to the bathroom?”

“No.”

“And you’ve not touched anything?”

“No.” Angie began to howl.

“Please look after her,” Lewis asked the receptionist.

She nodded and led Angie out of the room. Lewis took one more look at the scene of crime, burning the facts into his mind, before exiting and closing the door. “Make sure the room stays untouched until the pathologist and SOCOs get here,” he instructed. “I’ll call the Chief Super. Makes sense for me to investigate, but in the meantime I’m going to have a shower and wake up my sergeant.”

The manager, a rather camp and supercilious young man, raised his eyebrow. “Your sergeant?”

Lewis ignored him.

*

When Lewis emerged, washed, shaved and dressed more appropriately in a suit and tie, Hobson was already at the body. John and his SOCOs were also there, and two uniform officers. He’d left a message for Innocent to ring him, letting her know he was in situ, that the murder had happening on his floor of the hotel.

“That was quick,” quipped Hobson. “ And where’s James?”

“Waking up,” replied Lewis tartly, just as James emerged, looking more than a bit confused, from their room, hair on end and in jeans and tee shirt and bare feet.

“Robbie?”

“I told you to get dressed properly, sergeant,” Lewis said, more sternly than he had meant.

Hathaway blinked at the sight of Hobson and uniform and turned tail. Sharp-eyed Hobson noticed a slight, awkward limp.

“What have you done to the boy, Robbie?” she teased. The young uniformed officer standing at the door snorted.

“Problem constable?” snapped Lewis.

“None whatsoever sir.”

“Good. Keep it that way.”

“Sir.”

Lewis’ phone rang. It was Innocent. He walked away down the corridor out of earshot.

“I understand you’re at the scene?”

“Yes.”

“And James is there with you.”

“News travels fast ma’am.”

“In what capacity is he there?”

“That rather depends on you ma’am.”

“What?”

“If you give this to me, and it makes sense you do, I’m checked in until Tuesday morning, then he’s here as my bagman. Otherwise, we’re just here as witnesses to give statements and then be a spare pair of hands. Two spare pair of hands.”

“He’s not there as your bagman. He was in your bed, Robbie.”

“Don’t pretend this sort of thing doesn’t happen all the time!”

“Well, with female sergeants, yes, one turns a blind eye. He’s usually married, sometimes she is, it ends badly and I have a staffing problem.”

“I’m widowed, not married. Do you have a problem with this ma’am, because there is a whole raft of recent legislation on my side.”

“I don’t have to turn a blind eye to this.”

“But you would to a straight relationship.”

“Are you threatening me Inspector?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it ma’am.”

“Think of the gossip.”

“That particular genie’s out of the bottle whether you give me this case or not.”

“True.”

Lewis turned to see Hathaway walking up to him, suited and booted, hair smoothed down, make up his usual discrete minimum. He mouthed “Sir?”

“Well, did you know the victim?” pressed Innocent.

“Arrived the same time as us. Passed the time of day. Smiled across the restaurant. That’s it. The other witnesses have barely smiled at us.”

“See anything suspicious?”

“Not a thing.”

“Well, okay Robbie, the case is yours.”

“Thank you ma’am

*

“Okay Hobson, man, what have you get for me?”

“And what have you got to tell me?”

“Later. But I think you can work out the basics.”

“Uh-huh. The way the boy’s limping leaves nothing to the imagination about what you two have been up to.”

“You trying to make me feel guilty?”

“You got carried away, huh?”

Lewis sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It’s been a while, sure, but its those bastards who... don’t presume on our friendship Laura.”

“Hey, I just want you to be happy. I’m glad. I’ve always said you were lonely.” Hobson squeezed his hand briefly. “Stabbed with a very fine, sharp impliment. No sign of it. The thickness of a very fine knitting needle, pushed in with some force here. It seems she was dead instantly, which makes no sense. No major organs, no main arteries, you can see very little in the way of blood loss. What there is so blue it must be from a vein, although I’ve never seen blood with such a blue tinge.”

“Yeah. I noticed that. Thought it was my eyes. Bit tired.”

“Oh, I bet you are. A man your age!”

“Laura!”

“Sorry Robbie,” laughed Hobson.

“No you’re not.”

“No, you’re right, I’m not. PM at midday, okay?”

“That late?”

“You’re not the only one who has calls on my time. A young woman, found at the bottom of the stairs in Blackbird Leys has a prior call on my time. Sorry.”

“Midday it is. That’s a date.”

“Don’t let Sergeant Hathaway hear you say that. Where is he?”

“Taking the night staff’s statements and calling in a couple of D.C.s. I know just the pair. They’ll take the heat off James and me.”

“The mind boggles. See you later. Okay to move the body.”

“I was almost the first on the scene, so yes, fine.”

*

 

The following morning, the general manager gave over the ballroom as an incident room and a couple of empty suites for interviewing. Ngoti and Mercer arrived just as uniform were setting up the computers and phones and incident boards and Lewis and Hathaway were deciding on the sequence of interviewing for residents, guests and staff.

James had his back to the door, so he alone was unaware immediately in the changed Sophie Mercer. The hustle and bustle ceased abruptly, one could have heard a pin drop. Slowly James turned. Muhammad and Sophie stood in the doorway.

“Er... Surprise,” said Sophie Mercer, nervously tugging at her bright fuchsia pink hijab.

No one said anything, they just stared. James sighed and walked towards the door. If this was what Robbie had meant about another distraction, it was a bit mean. But then, this would have happened at Kidlington on Tuesday with a lot more people, so maybe this was kinder.

“As salaam alaykum Sophie. When you talked about Islam to me yesterday I had no idea...”

“Yeah, well. Mo’s family’s sheikh was at the festival, so I converted.”

“Just converted?”

“No, we, well we had this Muslim wedding thing. It’s not legal, like in England, just before Allah, you know.”

“Congratulations, both of you.” James smiled and shook Ngoti’s hand, careful not to shake Sophie’s.

“You too,” smirked Muhammad.

“News travels fast.”

The ice broken, the two WPCs came over and hugged Sophie, complimented her on the bold pinkness of the scarf and admired the two African gold bangles. Lewis offered congratulations then called everyone back to work. He was about to send Sophie and Muhammad off to interview Angie’s husband and get details from any Brookes admin staff they could find on who could formally ID Professor Indigo Summer, if indeed, that was her real name. However, he was interrupted by a polite cough at the door. An elderly woman stood in the doorway, upright and proud.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I thought perhaps I might be able to help.”

“Blimey, its Miss Marple,” muttered the uniformed PC to Muhammad, who tried not to snigger.

“We’ve a couple of rooms round the corner for interviews. If you’d like to come with me Mrs..?”

“Oh, its Miss. Miss Humphrys.”

“Well, if you follow me, we can talk in much more comfortable surroundings that this drafty hall. James, bring some tea.”

“Oh, I’d much prefer coffee. Double espresso.”

*

“Well, Inspector, I was up late, reading. I find as I get older I need less sleep. Well, I heard the two young women return to their room. They went for a midnight swim, you know?”  
“We know very little. Mrs Smith has had to be sedated.”

“Poor little girl. They were so in love. Well, I heard them return to their room. I have very acute hearing, you know. Your room was above mine.” She stared pointedly.

“Sorry.”

“It’s your young catamite you should apologize to.”

Lewis rubbed his eye. “Catamite? Exactly how old are you, Miss Humphrys. From Gallifrey by any chance?”

“Surely Gallifrey is a myth, Inspector. But I find it very surprising you’d have heard of it.”

“Well, we have all sorts of information at Thames Valley.” Lewis sighed. “What did you hear that is relevant to my investigation?”

The old lady stared pointedly.

“I was not hurting James. He was raped a few months ago. He was having flashbacks. They drugged him. Bits of memory still come back.”

“Really?”

“IF I hurt him it was unintentional.”

“I suppose so Inspector. I’m sure not all the scars are emotional.”

“What did you actually have to tell me?” Lewis was finding it very difficult to keep calm. “Ah, here’s James with your coffee.”

“Thank you young man.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Stay James.”

“As I was saying, I rarely sleep and I have acute hearing. Well, at roughly 2.45, a few minutes after I had looked at my clock, which had said 2.41, I heard a kind of scrabbling noise outside. At the time I believed it to be some kind of animal, but I now am inclined to believe it was the murderer climbing up the wall to their balcony.”

“Climbing up? Like Spiderman? There’s no convenient ivy, jutting brick work or guttering to hold on to.”

“Yes, I do see your problem Inspector. But some people can climb walls, cat burglars and the like.”

“Yes. And forensics have already examined the wall and ground under the balcony, you know.”

“Oh. Did they find anything?”

“I’ve not yet seen the report, but even if I had I couldn’t possibly comment.”

“Well, if I were you Inspector, I would chase up that report. Well, I will leave you to your investigation and your catamite.” She strode out, tall, proud and upright, as if 70 years younger and on the catwalk.

Hathaway’s eyebrows were in his hairline as he turned to Lewis, mouthing ‘catamite’?

“She’s bonkers.”

“Well, maybe she did hear something?”

“Oh, she heard something alright!”

“What?”

“Never you mind James. You take the two women, I’ll interview the two men from our floor. Then we’ll leave the rest of the guests to uniform while we attend the PM. Something about the body, the death...” Lewis rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah hell, I don’t know! Send Ngoti and Mercer back to Oxford, get then to interview the husband, find out his whereabouts. Obviously a suspect until we can eliminate him.”

“Obviously.” Hathaway sniffed

“And then they need to track down someone from Brookes to get next of kin info.”

“Okay,” James said, giving thumbs up gesture while turning back out of the room.

*

The elderly woman, all lavender and powder, her blue rinsed hair sprayed in submission, sat opposite Hathaway, clutching her tea cup firmly to stop her hands shaking.

“That poor, poor woman”

“Did you hear anything suspicious, Mrs. Cooper? If you were awake? The body was discovered just after three in the morning, and as her companion had only left her for a few moments we’re fairly certain she was killed at just before.”

“Well,” Mrs Cooper looked down, blushing, “I heard you.”

“Oh,” James replied flatly. “I’m not sure what to say. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I was concerned for you, really.”

“I’m fine.”

“It sounded like...”

James sighed. “Can we stick to the point? I’m alive. I’m fine. Really. But your room was between ours and theirs.” He smiled, in what her hoped was an encouraging manner.

“H’m. Well, we heard them giggling a lot, if you must know. And bed springs, you know...?” Mrs Cooper lowered her voice. “My husband, I thought he was going to have a stroke or heart attack. He went quite purple at one point. He’s a very old fashioned kind of man, you understand. Spent his life in the army. Retired now, of course, for more than twenty years, but well, you know?”

James nodded, encouragingly.

“He had a fit. Ranting about dykes and cradle snatching poofs. But he...” Mrs Cooper lowered her voice further, blushing more, leaning in towards Hathaway and whispered conspiratorially, “He listened. A glass to the wall. You know how straight men are about gay women?”

Hathaway shook his head. “I’m obviously very naive. My Inspector thinks so.” He said this with such innocence and with such a straight face Mrs Cooper couldn’t decide if he was joking.

“So, apart from giggling and love-making, which is pretty normal for a romantic weekend away, which is what this hotel advertises itself for, you heard nothing suspicious?”

“Well, we slept, after a fashion, after we heard you um, sort of scream. My husband was angry and all for going to bang on the door. I’m so sorry. Did he hurt you?”

“What is it? No. He didn’t. I’m fine.” Hathaway was speaking through gritted teeth, trying so hard not to lose his cool.

“Well, I slept anyway, I think my husband was listening to you...” She blushed again. “But he must have slept soundly eventually because he didn’t hear the girls come back from their swim. They woke me up, you know. I got up and watched over the balcony. That poor woman...” Mrs. Cooper put her hand to her mouth to contain a sob. She put down her teacup and reached for her handbag, and removing a lacy handkerchief, dabbed her eyes before continuing. “Such beautiful swimming. As graceful as a dolphin, really. Well, they came back up at about a quarter past midnight. They were giggling rather a lot and my husband awoke. They were very joyous, loud, perhaps a bit drunk. The dead girl, she – well, does one say proposed?”

“In the absence of another word, lets say yes. So you heard her ask Mrs Smith to enter into civil partnership?”

“Yes. And they must have gone to sleep, because it was quiet. We heard nothing else until poor Mrs Smith was screaming.”

“Thank you Mrs Cooper.”

“That poor, poor girl. Is anyone looking after her?”

“The doctor gave her a sedative. She’s asleep. The hotel gave her another room. We have a WPC sitting in there for when she awakes. Don’t worry; we’ll look after her. She has a daughter in Banbury that we’re trying to trace. She’ll look after her Mum.”

“I hope so, dear, I hope so.” Mrs Cooper patted Hathaway’s hand and stood up. “And you be careful too, dear. He’s your boss, old enough to be your father. My husband’s convinced he has a wife, says that sort always does. You deserve better.”

Hathaway stared at the frail old lady as she shuffled to the door. As she went to open the door he called, “He’s a widower. And he’s the best. I’m the one with hang-ups, okay? I don’t know anyone else who’d be that patient with me.”

“My dear boy, I didn’t mean anything...”

“Yeah, I know. But interpreting what you hear is an art form. One is never sure. Piecing over heard conversations, sounds, screams...”

“I’m sure, dear. But you sounded terrified and in pain.”

“Well, yeah, but it was nightmare. I was raped, okay? Four, five months ago.”

“I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. But we didn’t misinterpret the girls. They were happy, they made love and they swam. We didn’t hear a murder...” Mrs Cooper broke off again, breaking down into anguished sobs. Hathaway leapt up and guided her back to the chair, poured her more tea from the teapot and added lots of sugar. He knelt down in front of her and put his hands over hers.

“Don’t upset yourself, please Mrs. Cooper. We will find out who killed her, and then he’ll be sent away for a very long time.”

“Did they catch the man, who, uh..?”

“Oh, yes. The world is a much safer place with those two bastards – forgive me Mrs. Cooper – with those two in prison. They’d been doing what they did to men and boys for over five years, plus the drug smuggling and the people trafficking.” Hathaway snorted. “Its the best collar I’ve ever made!” Mrs. Cooper stared at him, aghast. He was aware he’d made himself sound like an agent provocateur, albeit gone wrong, but didn’t care. “Now you stay here, Mrs. Cooper, compose yourself, and I’ll go next door and ask your husband to come and take you to your room.”

*

Lewis was breathing deeply, his fist balled, counting to ten, when Hathaway knocked on the door and entered immediately, without preamble.

“Sir, If you’ve finished...”

Brigadier Cooper stood up and strode over to Hathaway, interrupting him mid sentence. “Are you alright boy? Your boss claims to have neither hurt you or seduced you.”

Hathaway took a deep sigh. “I am fine, I explained to your wife I had a nightmare. She will, I’m sure, fill you in with the details. As for seduce me? I’ve been in love with my boss for five years. It was all I could do to get him to look at me for years. Seduce? How could he? When I’ve been waiting.... God!” Hathaway stared up at the ceiling.

“Now, Brigadier Cooper. Since we’ve established what you heard one side of your room, can we talk about the other side.”

“No need. The dirty old sod listened to them make love through the wall. A glass to the wall, no less. Very distressing for his wife. If you want a damsel in distress to rescue, Mr. Cooper, I suggest you go next door and escort your wife to your room. The murder of a young woman has been a very distressing time for her.” Hathaway opened the door and gestured angrily for the retired Brigadier to leave.

Lewis came over to him and touched Hathaway on the arm. “Bloody brilliant, man. You okay?”

“Fine. Are you? Everyone seemed to think... Aagh! I don’t know what!”

“You didn’t have a nightmare, that was a lie.”

“I don’t want everyone knowing my business. What do you want me to say? It was my first time, yours for 10 years, that we were clumsy? You never meant to hurt me.”

“No. I know. Right, lets get Mr. And Mrs. Morris interviewed and get back to Oxford.”

“Okay. Okay. Right.”

“Just one thing.”

“Yup?”

“Did his wife really tell you that? About listening?”

“Yes. And apart from general happiness, they heard nothing. No fights, no screams, just giggles and bed springs and declarations of love and proposals. I think we can rule out Angela Smith, she was prepared to leave her husband and marry the Professor.”

“No. No. I agree. The shock and distress was very genuine. Besides, if it was her we’d have found the murder weapon by now, wouldn’t we? But it’s procedure, James. The partner always has to be on the top of a list of suspects until we can eliminate them.”

“Yeah, I know.”

*

“I don’t know what to say, really. I saw them arrive. Saw them at dinner. Um, er... watched them go swimming after the pool was supposed to be closed, after eleven. They swam naked, you, er, know?”

Mr. Morris, a floppy haired thirty something IT consultant blushed to the roots of his floppy brown hair.

“You watched two naked women swim while your wife slept. Can’t say as I blame you.”

Morris stared at Lewis. “Thought you were, you know, gay.”

“No. Well, yeah, now, I suppose. It’s a new thing. My wife – well, she... died. Been alone a long time.”

“Love’s a funny thing. My wife and I – well, she thinks I’m a geek, hates SF and fantasy. Very down to earth. Has to be, you know, running her own business. She hates being out of control. That’s why we came away. The doctor told her she needs complete rest, and unless you get her right away from her business, she’s not going to do that. It’s the baby, you know. We’ve had so many – Well, you don’t need to know all about that. At first, yeah, yeah, I did just watch, you know? A cheap thrill. But that woman, the victim? Swan like a fish. Joy to watch. Could hold her breath forever, like an underwater gymnast. Beautiful. Poor woman.”

“So you heard nothing or saw nothing suspicious?”

“Nope. Well, we were the other end of corridor to them. We heard you two. Bit awkward, really. Didn’t mean to listen. Sorry. Is he okay? Sounded like he was...you know?”

“No. No I don’t and it really isn’t your...”

“Virginity. Or at least, not had that...”

Lewis smiled evilly. “The lad was training to be a priest, so yeah, he’s a bit of a late starter.”

“Oh gosh. Oh wow. He must have hated himself. Christianity’s not too hot on being gay. My brother’s gay, and my brother-in-law’s a Baptist minister. Made our wedding interesting, I can tell you.”

“I can imagine. Well thank you Mr. Morris. If you do remember anything, however trivial, we have an incident room right here in the hotel. I’m sure one of the DCs or PCs will help.”

“What? Oh sure. Sure. Sorry I couldn’t help – you know, more.”

*

Mrs Morris was a very self-assured, confident, imposing woman dressed in pressed skinny jeans, high-heeled sandals and a floral smock top. No make up and no jewellery, but the skin told a story that the usual state was full skin make up. She refused the tea and asked for black coffee, and then changed her mind, asking for something herbal, ‘but not peppermint’ – ‘oh God, no, not coffee, I’m not allowed. Oh God, what a bore.’

“Congratulations on the baby, Mrs Morris.”

“What? Oh God, yes. Thanks. It’s for Mark, really, but after I lost the other two I suppose I am keen on the sprog making it. Mark’s going to give up work. Shame he can’t carry and give birth.”

“Biology has its draw backs,” Hathaway said dryly.

“Oh yes. Suppose you would know. Poor dear. What can I say? We were at the other end; with you and that frightful bore of Derby and Joan in-between us. Mark went to watch them swim, at about midnight? We heard them come up, all giggling and drunk on their own love. Disgustingly emotional, but I suppose that’s what lesbianism gets you, twice the stupid romance and soppiness. Don’t suppose you go in for that. Its all sex with men, isn’t it?”

Hathaway raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t say no to a bit of romance, but you, Mrs Morris, the mind boggles.”

“No, I suppose Mark is the romantic one in our marriage. Can’t say I’ve ever got on with women, too sloppy and soppy. Thank heaven I’m not a dyke!” She snorted at her lame joke. “Take a tip dear, sleeping with the boss is not romantic, its career suicide.”

“I’d take D.I. Lewis over my career any day,” Hathaway said rather fiercely. “Now, if we can return to the early hours...”

“Well, after Mark came in from watching the aqua event, we slept until that terrible scream. Went right through one. Is she okay? The other one?”

“She’s sedated.”

“Poor dear. I know I moan about Mark, but I couldn’t imagine losing him.” She shuddered. “Well, if I do remember anything else, you’re about, aren’t you? I’m stuck here until the end of my first trimester. Doctor’s orders. Such a bore. Thank God for the internet and my laptop and iphone. Oh, be a love, don’t tell Mark.”

Hathaway sniggered a little and smiled. “No, you’re fine, Mrs Morris. Absolutely fine.”

*  
When Lewis and Hathaway met in the ballroom, they were informed that a guest wished to speak to the D.I. in charge. They were directed to the conservatory tea room where the WPC pointed out a couple, early sixties, she with a blonde bob, sitting by the window in the companionable silence one gets after decades of quietly contented marriage. Or at least that’s how it seemed to Lewis. The woman’s patient demeanour reminded him of Val, if nothing else. Hathaway thought the man held himself with the precision of someone who may have had a military background, controlled, masculine yet not hard. They weaved their way through the white metal tables and chairs and mostly retired couples to the man who had ‘wanted a word’, Hathaway stumbling against the table of a short, compact older man sitting alone. As Hathaway stuttered out the usual English platitudes he thought he recognised the man. That writer who lived in Oxford?

“D.I. Lewis, Mr..?”

The man stood up and shook Lewis’ hand. “It’s D. I. Barnaby, actually. Or was, retired now.” He gave an embarrassed smile, as if he could not bear the though of retirement. “I just wondered if there was anything I could do. A spare pair of hands, so to speak. Your investigation, obviously.”

Lewis was about to answer when the woman spoke, “Oh Tom, no, this is our first holiday that is supposed to be guaranteed.”

“It’s okay Sir. You enjoy your holiday. And your retirement. I’m sure my sergeant and I will muddle through.” He shook Barnaby’s hand and wandered away, Hathaway at his heels. Barnaby sat down.

“Oh Tom, really.”

“I just thought, you know...”

“You can’t keep away, can you?” Joyce looked out of the window, then turned back to look at her husband, a thought crossing her mind. “They were here as guests, weren’t they? That Inspector and his sergeant. Staying on the back mezzanine, over the pool. Shame you couldn’t afford that for us...”

“Well, he’s obviously not a family man, with a resting daughter to support, is he?”

“How can you know? He could be married for all you know. Sometimes I had my doubts about you and Ben Jones, you know.”

Barnaby looked away, a secret smirk on his face. “Really darling. What a ridiculous idea.”

*

“What was that all about Sir? I would have thought someone with that seniority, in the incident room, could only –“

Lewis cut him off. “D. I. Barnaby. Causton CID, from Midsomer. I’ve heard of him. If I let him help the body count will be through the roof!”


	3. The body changes...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The body changes. Hobson is angry. Hathaway faints then goes in for some mega Catholic guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the fourth AU Season 5 for my daughter. The third is still bedtime story stage, and very complex to write, with 21 murders, only one which counts to Innocent, the others all Town not Gown, and the boys going undercover...
> 
> These stories began as stories made up verbally for my daughter, who has high  
> functioning autism, doesn’t sleep and is obsessed with Lewis. It takes 2-3 Lewis DVDs a night to keep her still and get her to sleep, so on holiday these stories were made up and told by me at night, totally exhausted, changing each time. Last June 2010, unsupported and not coping very well, I stormed out of the house in my wheelchair to the ring road, ready to wheel myself under a truck. Instead, I came home and began to write. I’ve not written fanfic since the 1990s,where I’ve had Star Trek TOS and DS9 and Dr. Who on the net and in zines, under various names. Please be kind to me. Writing these stories down is my only time to myself, as she doesn’t sleep and I’ve been forced to home educate.
> 
> Lewis and Hathaway belong to ITV
> 
> D.I. Barnaby and Midsomer belong to Bentley Productions and ITV
> 
> UNIT, Torchwood and all the Time Lord paraphernalia belong to the BBC
> 
> The Counsellor and Lady Julian College is copyrighted and used with kind permission. The offspring and the situation is all my own invention.
> 
> Oxford is owned by the University Colleges, The Crown, The Church of England, Oxford City Council and Oxfordshire County Council, the later who should be lined up against a wall, or even better, all magically transported into a pain ridden disabled body left caring for an autistic child and see how they cope with their savage cuts to care, support, school and charity funding....

Due to Barnaby and the traffic, Lewis and Hathaway arrived too late for the PM. They were told Dr. Hobson had gone out for some air. They wandered the extensive grounds of the J.R. for sometime before they found her, sitting alone on a bench near the Health Practice.

“Is she smoking Sir?”

“No. Not Laura. Don’t think I’m going to kiss you until you’ve disinfected your mouth.” Lewis scowled at Hathaway’s cigarette. As they approached they could see Hobson indeed had a cigarette, and indeed lit, in her hand, although she appeared to be holding it rather than smoking it. She looked up as she heard them approach and stood up and ground the cigarette to dust before bearing down on them with the aggression of a prizefighter.

“Where were you? You were late.”

“Yeah. I do have a murder investigation to run. I don’t have to be at the PM.”

“Well, you did this one. Christ, you needed to be there. I needed you there. This is way over my head. I’m going against all procedure and protocols.”

“Protocols? What protocols?”

“Protocol 14.”

“Shit. Let me see the body Laura.”

“Well...”

“Dammit, this is my investigation. I won’t be pushed over. She is a professor at Brookes. She does – did – have a life here. Friends. A lover. She deserves justice. Not...” he looked meaningfully at Hobson.

“Come on, I’ll show you.” She strode purposefully back towards the hospital buildings, Lewis, grim faced by her side. Bemused and confused, but sensibly silent, Hathaway followed.

*  
“Right. What you see in this room stays in this room. Okay.” Laura manually unlocked the room with both Yale and Chubb keys before she used the keypad.

“Triple locked. Is that a bit..?”

“No. No Robbie. Not when you see the body. You still here Sergeant?”

“James stays Laura.”

“Well, ‘There are more things in Heaven and on Earth...’, you just remember that Sergeant?”

“Okay. Fine. What is this all about?” Hathaway followed Lewis and Hobson into the examination room. The body on the table was covered with a cloth. It did seem on first glance to be taller than he remembered Professor Summer being.

Hobson took a deep breath. “Right. Let’s get on with this. Still a routine murder investigation, are we?”

“Yes. She deserves this. I have an idea on how we can have help identifying the body’s origin.”

Hobson leant over the table, composing herself, before whipping back the cloth.

Hathaway looked away, hand over his mouth, not believing what he was seeing. Blue. All he could think was blue. Bright blue. Scales. Bright blue shimmering scales and almond yellow eyes, staring dead. Dead fish eyes. He heard Lewis and Hobson as if from far down a tunnel. There was a roaring in his ears.

“Dear God!”

“Yes. A very big God. Is he okay?”

“He’ll be fine. I’ve never seen the like.”

“No. Me neither. Nor what happened. I made an incision just here, for a stomach contents analysis when I found this.”

The sounds of the rustling of an evidence bag. “What is it?”

“Don’t know. But I removed this, and with – well, I can only decide to describe as a blue flash followed by what could only be called a shimmer, the human Professor Summer vanished and this female appeared. And she is a female, but not a woman, to be technical. Not a mammal. Egg sacs, no womb.”

“And those. Are they gills?”

“Yes. And where the wound that killed, a gland, similar to the pituitary, I would guess. Lungs and gills. Perhaps the gland regulated when to use what? I don’t know. But I would hazard a guess who ever made the wound knew exactly what he – or she - was doing. Still want this Robbie?”

“This is my case. Alien murdering alien, it’s still on my patch.”

“Technically no.”

“Hell, Laura, they were two doors down from me –”

Us, thought Hathaway vaguely, what happened to us? Or Genesis? Or the Gospels? The roaring in his ears was getting louder, it was hard to make out what Robbie was saying.

“-besides, it was only 20 or so miles from the city, still my patch. Far more than UNIT, anyway.”

“NHS Protocol 14 informs us we call Torchwood.”

“Aye. Torchwood will take the living deemed no threat. UNIT gets bodies. She deserves justice, and a funeral. I will find her murderer, wherever he came from, whatever colour he is, whatever he breathes. You never met her, saw her smile.”

“No. No I didn’t.”

“Can you give me a week Laura? A week.”

“Keep the body hidden, you mean? Well, I can try, but...”

Dr. Hobson’s voice and the roaring disappeared into blackness...

*

... “James? James pet? Can you hear me?”

“You said he’d be fine. Uptight religious nuts don’t handle finding God has side projects.”

“Laura, man! Just put your hand in his inside right pocket.”

“What?”

“Just do it. He keeps smelling salts there.”

“James keeps smelling salts? Oh, fine.”

“James?”

Hathaway opened his eyes to find he was looking up into Lewis’ worried ones, his head on Lewis’s lap. He sat up, embarrassed. “I’m fine. Yeah. I’m fine now. Just a bit of a shock, you know?” He stood up and forced himself to look at Professor Summer. “You have to ask, did Angela Smith know her lover was an alien? Or did her compatriots not like her sleeping with a human? Or a female human? Or was she on the run? You want justice, but what if this was justice, that she was, I don’t know, a mass murderer?”

“Oxford is stuffed full of aliens. Academics and political refugees, the lot of them. You’ve met one.”

“Are you telling me your friend is a blue fish person?”

“No, James. At least I don’t think so. She looks human because she does look human. Or we look Time Lord, from her point of view. And that’s who we need now. She’ll be able to give the information we need to solve Professor Summer’s murder. When we’ve done that, Torchwood can have her.”

“And what do we do about the formal ID Sir?” both Lewis and Hobson flinched, the biting sarcastic vitriol that dripped from his delivery of Sir hurt.

“Well...” began Lewis.

“James has a point Robbie.”

“Well, let’s get Angie to do it.”

“What? Are you mad? She’s going lose her husband and kids for the woman she loved, who’s now dead, and you want to show her that!”

“We need to know how much she knows. And as for you! You, sergeant, will call me Sir while we’re working. Is that clear?”

“Crystal sir,” Hathaway flounced out of the room.

“That was harsh Robbie. I know you’re rattled...”

“I’m not rattled. I’m disappointed in him.”

“Really? And what about you? How did you handle the first case where you had to find out about the existence of the likes of UNIT and Torchwood?”

“Fine. Okay? Fine, Laura. Morse’s bloody gopher because he couldn’t handle it, dealing with the Counsellor. She nearly got herself killed uncovering the alien scum abducting students, okay? So all I saw were people, good and bad. My third time she did get herself killed, shot not by the Sontaran but UNIT troops. I got her body away from UNIT, okay. Hid her here until she regenerated. So don’t you lecture me.”

“I’m sorry.” Hobson touched his hand.

Lewis sighed deeply, rubbed his neck and the bridge of his nose. “No, I’m sorry. All that was uncalled. I didn’t sleep last night. And no dirty comments, Laura, alright? After James slept I couldn’t help but think of Val, of our first time, of our honeymoon. And now this. It seemed pretty straight forward, really. Either the girl had a panic attack about going gay full time or the husband killed his wife’s lover. How he got up the wall and on the balcony was a bit of a sticking point, true.”

“It maybe. But I’m certain her killer knew what they were doing. So, that’s another alien or...”

“Torchwood.”

“We’re in up to our necks.”

“Just give me one week. You can always pretend you’d only just removed the gizmo. Keep her here for now. I’ll get my friend to take a look.”

“Then I’ll stash her away somewhere. And you had better find James. We were in private, Robbie. You can’t fuck him then act as if nothing’s changed, can you?”

“Thanks. Thanks for that Laura. I’ll see you later.”

*

 

Hathaway was pacing by Lewis’ car, smoking.

“Sorry pet. That was uncalled for.”

“I don’t know where I am with you. You tell me to call you sir when there’s no-one but Dr. Hobson, who’s probably the closest thing to your best friend, and now you call me pet. You do that in front of anyone and I’ll be the butt of jokes forever. If I’m not already.” Hathaway glared a few moments before adding, “Sir.”

“Well, we can work out some ground rules, can’t we? But I was just pissed off at you. I didn’t expect you to...Hell, man, you fainted! And after that business over at Harwell over the summer.”

“I didn’t actually see anything, did I? And you packed me out of the way pretty sharpish. We should hand it over. Sir.”

 

*

Lewis dropped Hathaway off at his flat to fetch his car with instructions to fetch the Counsellor and meet him in back at the JR Lewis was returning to the hotel, having had the call to tell him Mrs. Angela Smith was awake and calmer. Hathaway said nothing in the car, nothing as he climbed out, slamming the door. As soon as Lewis drove off, he let himself in and headed straight for the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of red wine. Holding it, he allowed his legs to buckle, sliding down to the floor, his back to the fridge.

An alien! Dear God. A murdered gay alien!

He knocked back the wine and put his head in his hands, bringing his knees up to his chest, curling up on the floor in an almost foetal position.

Not aliens. Not really. Robbie Lewis. Last night. How could he let him...?

But he’d wanted it.

But it was wrong. Categorically wrong. Leviticus 18:22 and 20:13. But then, where in the Bible did God tell of his other planets? Did they have prophets? Religion?

Supposing one ignored Leviticus, and one mostly did. James wasn’t about to tell a woman to marry the man who raped her or sacrifice turtledoves for her uncleanliness and sinfulness following her period! But then there was the story of Lot and Sodom in Genesis and St. Paul’s comment in Romans.

Okay, time and place culturally specific, one could argue, and Lewis’s strange friend, the Counsellor had. Kidnapping boys from neighbouring city-states and turning them into temple prostitutes to worship false idols was abhorrent. Fair enough. And, as the Counsellor pointed out, ‘highway robbery, and, this was the main one, financial fraud and fraudulent business practice equally brought down the wrath of God, but you don’t see American Evangelicals getting their knickers in a twist about that!’

Fine. But sex outside marriage was a big no no.

Do you argue that marriage is a solemn vow (Christian) or a social contract (Judaism and Islam)?

Okay, so if a civil partnership is an equal social contract to an English marriage then what? Plead with Robbie like a virtuous Victorian (ex) maiden.

James decided he still was ignoring the real issue. But that was his childhood, or rather, the sexual abuse, which was only a small, nasty aspect of his childhood. He stood up, still ignoring it. He’d had sex. Great. And it had been. Amazing. Brilliant. Fantastic. Painful? A bit, but he’d scarily found that pain could be fun. A little.

He wandered into his bedroom and grabbed his Bible and opened the page at random. Great. Leviticus. He closed his eyes and put his finger down randomly on a verse:

19:33 “When an alien resides with you in your land, you shall not oppress the alien. The alien resides with you shall be as the citizen among you, you shall love the alien as yourself...”

It seemed as if Robbie Lewis were a far better Christian that he was: “Dammit, this is my investigation. I won’t be pushed over. She is a professor at Brookes. She does – did – have a life here. Friends. A lover. She deserves justice.”

Throwing the Bible back on the bed, pausing at his mirror to smooth his hair, James left to go and visiting another alien residing in his land.

*

Lewis sat opposite Angela Smith, leant forward in a sympathetic gesture.

“It was horrible.” She didn’t look at him, kept twisting her tissue in her hands as it slowly disintegrated.

“How long were you in the bathroom, Mrs Smith?”

“Angela, please,” she muttered automatically, numbly.

“We heard you scream at what? Less than five minutes to three. Did you hear nothing? See nothing?”

“I... I got my period. I had to go to the loo, you see? My periods, well, they hurt a lot, I’ve got this illness, it’s called endometriosis, and, well... I ran a bath, and lay in a warm bubble bath for ages. I kept topping up the hot water, thinking thank God I didn’t come on in the pool, or you know, while we were doing it?"

Lewis nodded encouraging. “My wife sometimes got terrible pains too,” he told her sympathetically.

“Your wife? Are you married? I thought... Oh! Listen to me. I suppose you think... That’s what I thought. Dave! I got the impression someone was on the balcony, that they jumped... but they can’t have jumped just like that, so I must have been imagining.” Angela sighed deeply and looked up at Lewis. “You must be in the shit now. Someone will tell your wife.”

Lewis sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “She’s... Well, I’m a widower. I’ve been alone nearly 10 years.”

“I’m sorry. Still, he seems nice. Your boyfriend. They tell me he’s your sergeant.”

“For now. I’m retiring soon and he deserves promotion. Tell me more about this person you thought jumped from the balcony?”

“Oh. It was just a shape, a shadow. Then I look down and saw Indie and...” Angela broke off into sobs. “Who could do such a thing? I know I thought Dave, but he’s a very sweet guy, you know. I’ve only kept it all a secret because he deserves better. He loves me. But...”

“Apparently he was passed out drunk in your front room. He has no alibi, but a headache and a hangover that seems fairly genuine. He fell, apparently, and there’s evidence to back it up. His mates came back after the pub and stayed drinking until one, one thirty. He could have done, but my people don’t think so. He’s worried for you.”

“Did he know?”

“Yes, he found out that the girlfriends you were supposed to be with were still in Rose Hill. He was very drunk, looking for information about where your hotel was. My D.C. seems to think he genuinely doesn’t know where you are, which would make murdering your girlfriend a bit difficult.”

“So he’s not a suspect?”

“I can’t say that. And the same goes for you. But that’s procedure. I have my own suspicions. I need to ask you how much you know about the professor. And we need you to come with me back to Oxford to make a formal ID.”  
“Oh, er, yes, of course. If you think there’s no-one else.”

“We’re trying to find out, but at the start of the Reading Week, Brookes’ Bursary has shut down.”

“Yeah. It would. She had friends. Mostly in the department, but others – well, she said they wouldn’t understand about us. And I respected that. I did. She never mentioned any family.”

“Do you know where she comes from? Originally? Where she was born?”

“No. I’m sorry. She was a student, back in the seventies, I think. When Brookes was the old Polytechnic. I always got the impression... No.”

“What?”

“It seems horrible. I love – loved her. I know she loved me. Some of the things she said, made me think she had been some kind of refugee. Somewhere where you can’t believe what you want, say what want. Somewhere where her religion wasn’t allowed.”

“Well, that narrows it down a bit,” said Lewis dryly.

“I don’t know where that was. Sorry. I kind of thought, old Cold War stuff. But she doesn’t have an accent. Didn’t, I mean.”

“Are you up to the ID? I’m afraid it will be quite a shock.”

“Well, I already saw her, didn’t I?”

“I’m afraid Mrs. Smith – Angela – that Professor Indigo Summer has changed rather dramatically.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I’m afraid it’s difficult to explain.”

“Oh.” Angela went back to picking at her tissue.

“Lewis sighed. “Indigo Summer. That can’t be her real name, can it?”

“She said she’d left her old name far behind with her old life. She said it meant the same thing, anyway, and something very important to her. That’s all I know. Sorry. I’m not much help, am I? Do you think it’s something political then? Something to do with her old life then? Her murder.”

“It’s possible, yes.”

“But the Cold War ended over 20 years ago!”

“We don’t really know she came from one of the old Eastern Bloc countries, do we? It might not be political, but personal. But we are fairly convinced it’s connected to her point of origin, yes. But that’s instinct, not evidence based or procedural.” Lewis snorted. “I used to get angry with my old Inspector, when I was a sergeant, with his wild leaps of the imagination.” Lewis sighed, “However, it seems that’s all that’s open to me with your lover’s death. If you’re ready Angela, I’ll drive you back to Oxford and we can get the formal stuff out of the way.” He stood and gestured for Angela to the same, supporting her arm, as she was still very wobbly with emotion and tranquillizers.

As they went, having thought of Morse, Lewis couldn’t stop wondering what his old boss and friend would make of Hathaway. Would they have got on? Morse was always fairly tolerant of homosexual behaviour, despite the generation he came from. Lewis could almost hear him making some acerbic comment about seducing leggy blonds half his age.


	4. The body is identified

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The body is identified. Gossip begins. Hobson is nosy. A theft under Lewis' nose!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the fourth AU Season 5 for my daughter. The third is still bedtime story stage, and very complex to write, with 21 murders, only one which counts to Innocent, the others all Town not Gown, and the boys going undercover...
> 
> These stories began as stories made up verbally for my daughter, who has high  
> functioning autism, doesn’t sleep and is obsessed with Lewis. It takes 2-3 Lewis DVDs a night to keep her still and get her to sleep, so on holiday these stories were made up and told by me at night, totally exhausted, changing each time. Last June 2010, unsupported and not coping very well, I stormed out of the house in my wheelchair to the ring road, ready to wheel myself under a truck. Instead, I came home and began to write. I’ve not written fanfic since the 1990s,where I’ve had Star Trek TOS and DS9 and Dr. Who on the net and in zines, under various names. Please be kind to me. Writing these stories down is my only time to myself, as she doesn’t sleep and I’ve been forced to home educate.
> 
> Lewis and Hathaway belong to ITV
> 
> The Ewok belongs to George Lucas
> 
> D.I. Barnaby and Midsomer belong to Bentley Productions and ITV
> 
> UNIT, Torchwood and all the Time Lord paraphernalia belong to the BBC
> 
> The Counsellor and Lady Julian College is copyrighted and used with kind permission. The offspring and the situation is all my own invention.
> 
> Oxford is owned by the University Colleges, The Crown, The Church of England, Oxford City Council and Oxfordshire County Council, the later who should be lined up against a wall, or even better, all magically transported into a pain ridden disabled body left caring for an autistic child and see how they cope with their savage cuts to care, support, school and charity funding....

When Hathaway pulled up at the Counsellor’s house he couldn’t get into her carport. A four by four was in the drive, a sleek black thing. The front door opened and Charlotte stumbled out of the door, cart wheeling on the minute front lawn before climbing onto the fence and balancing on the edge. A man in a retro army great coat followed her and the Counsellor stood in the doorway, bare footed in a green sleeveless maxi shift dress over a white tee shirt.

Hathaway couldn’t take his eyes from the man, there was something about him that was magnetic, even at such a distance. He climbed out of the car, but stood on the road, waiting for the man to take his leave. He was obviously vain, it was far too warm for such a heavy coat, and he was obviously wearing it for effect. He shook the Counsellor’s hand and then turned, noticing Hathaway.

“Hello Sergeant,” called the Counsellor. She said something to the man and he walked up the drive to Hathaway.

“Hi, sergeant. Are you here for the Counsellor? You must be Inspector’s Lewis’ boy. The Counsellor has been telling me all about your little adventure.” He seemed to exclude some powerful animal magnetism, undressing James with his eyes. With classic Hollywood good looks and a casual masculine arrogance, James was equally terrified and fascinated. Something of the fear must of showed, because the man seems to lose interest and nod politely, saying, “Well, I’ll leave you to the Counsellor.”

Meanwhile, Charlotte had run up the drive, bare feet not seeming to feel the sharp stones and grit. “James. Are you going to take me swimming?”

“I really hope so,” called the Counsellor. She turned to the man. “I let Robbie know how hard I was finding it hard to cope this half term, so he must have sent James. Come on in,” she called.

Hathaway followed the Counsellor in. Charlotte stayed to watch the black four by four drive off, chasing it up the road, waving.

“Thank you for not contradicting me. I take it your Inspector needs my advice again. Well, this is a very bad time.”

Hathaway followed her into the kitchen, where some kind of hippy, veggie stew with black beans and peppers was bubbling on the stove. She turned the heat off. On the kitchen table was a car seat. Hathaway peeped in. Bizarrely, it looked like a teddy bear. He leapt back. He was sure it was breathing.

“Oh, my new foster daughter, Sergeant. Very awkward and difficult to explain. Now, what does Inspector Lewis want?”

“I’m to take you to the mortuary in the John Radcliffe. He and Dr. Hobson will meet you there. There’s a body.”

“I guessed, strangely.”

“It’s blue. It has gills.”

“How are you..?” She gave Hathaway one of her intensely penetrating and frightening stares. “Ooh! You’ve been a very naughty boy, Sergeant.”

Hathaway blushed to the root of his hair. She really did read minds.

“Only the surface, and not always. Your aura’s changed, and you’re glowing, James. Happy? Oh no, of course not. Guilty.”

“Um. Shall we go? Will you..?”

“I’ll look at the body, Sergeant. Does Robbie need you there? Because the question that hangs in the air is: ‘what do we do with the children?’.”

“Children?”

“Lotta then.”

“Oh no. I’m far too tired to... I’ll phone one of the DCs, she can look after her.”

“Well, Emily should continue to sleep, any way.”

“The teddy bear?”

“She’s an infant Ewok, Sergeant.”

“Another alien?”

“Indeed. Her parents died in a crash, in the Brecon Becons. I thought Emily. Well, my lastest human identity is Anne, and I have a Charlotte. Seemed fitting, don’t you think?”

*  
When Lewis accompanied Angela to the mortuary door he found DC Mercer standing there, tapping away at her phone.

“Constable. What are you doing here?”

“Oh. Sergeant Hathaway called me. Baby sitting. He said you needed an expert witness, and this being a Saturday, she had her kid in toe.”

“He could have got a uniformed WPC.”

“I don’t mind Sir.”

“Well good luck. The Counsellor’s daughter is somewhat...” Lewis laughed. “You’ll see, Constable.”

“Oh well, my cousin had ADHD, so I’m used to being run rings round.”

Lewis opened the door for Angela and indicated she walk through to pathology. Hobson was already at the door of the examination room.

“What kept you?”

Angela had been very silent since they’d left the hotel, hardly talking in car and not saying a word since they’d left it. At the sight of the body shaped cloth covering the table she let out a whimper, covering her mouth with her hand.

Lewis put his hand on her shoulder. “Okay? You are going to find this very hard, Angela.” He nodded to Hobson.

Hobson took a deep breath. “I know you probably felt you knew Professor Summer very well, but I must warn you, you will find you didn’t at all. You won’t recognise her.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Angela started to panic.

“We want to catch who killed her, Angela. I’m sure you want that too. We need you to ID her to continue,” Lewis said gently.

“What?”

“We’re not supposed to be doing this. I’m supposed to report her changed body to – well, that’s classified,” Hobson explained briskly.

“What? What are you talking about? Why are you doing this to me?” Angela could no longer hide her extreme distress.

Hobson walked over to her and touched her elbow. “I’m sorry Mrs Smith. When I did the PM I came across an electronic implant. When I removed it – well, she changed. Come, let me show you.” Hobson gently guided Angela to the body and folded back the sheet.

Angela stared at the person in front of her, lying dead. The high upsweep of the forehead was a close match to her lover’s, strangely. A downward triangle of glittering scales that went back over the head instead of hair, the point ending with gentle flared nostrils that were set straight in the face, with no nose. The curve of the mouth with the slight tilt was in some small reminiscent of Indigo’s. The wide neck, with gills, no wonder she could swim under water for so long, had been such a graceful swimmer. The eyes, almond shaped with huge, deep blue irises were in somehow like the deep blue eyes in her dark haired Indie. She’d always thought such blue eyes strange and exotic in someone so dark haired and olive skinned. Blue skinned! A beautiful indigo blue... she stretched out a hand to stroke her face, the scales. She tried to close her eyes, but they wouldn’t.

“I’ve already tried,” Hobson said gently. “Here,” Hobson showed the bag with the strange device that had made Indigo Summer look human. “This is what I removed.”

“Oh,” Angela said blankly.

“I’m supposed to report this, Mrs Smith. She’s supposed to end up in a lab...” Hobson didn’t finish her sentence instead she just shrugged.

Angela shuddered.

“And that with be the end of the investigation. D-notices issues. Not even an open, unsolved case. Instead it will be as if the murder never happened. We want justice for her – I want justice for her,” Lewis explained.

“And a proper funeral,” added Hobson.

“But we need all the paperwork, else my Chief will get suspicions. She’s always suspicious of me as it is. So, Angela, can you identify that alien female as your lover? Sorry, to be so blunt, but...”

“Yes,” Angela said firmly. “I loved her so much, and she’s beautiful, as beautiful as she was. Look, the eyes are the same, the same of the mouth. It’s her. It’s my Indie. Find her killer, Inspector. Please. Oh, I feel kind of...” Hobson caught hold of Angela as her knees buckled. Lewis brought over a chair and then fetched some water.

 

*

The Counsellor insisted they went via the shops on Level 2. Hathaway trailed the two aliens, the Counsellor bouncing along, hiding the fact she was ill, exhausted and in pain; Charlotte running down the middle of the corridor being an aeroplane, like a child one quarter of her age. Hathaway was carrying the baby car seat, thankful for the hood and blanket obscuring what appeared to be a teddy bear. So freaked out by the way the day was turning out he stared suspiciously at a real Build-a-Bear stuffed bear, dressed in a pink sundress and baby cardigan, sitting on the lap of a woman in a wheelchair. A child of about 11 or 12, presumably the owner, was following, head down, walking along the red line leading to the Red Outpatients waiting room, muttering to herself and touching each jutting brick from the wall artwork as she passed.

Hathaway and the Counsellor waited as Charlotte went into the newsagents to return with a children’s magazine and a packet of jelly babies.

“Right. That’s payment in advanced for being good, understand.”

“Yes, Mamma.”

They proceeded to the lift, Charlotte now walking behind Hathaway in big giant steps, trying to keep up. Every time he looked around she switched to fairy steps with a smug expression on her face.

When they arrived, Lewis was looking angry. “What kept you?” he grumbled at Hathaway. “I’ve been out to the Cotswolds, conducted an interview and come back again since then. You’ve only been to Didcot, man.”

Hathaway glared at Lewis. “Sorry Sir.” He turned to Mercer. “Thanks Sophie. This is Charlotte. Lotta.”

“Hi. I’m DC Mercer. You can call me Sophie. Want to go to the play park.”

“There’s a play park?” the Counsellor seemed astounded.

“Yeah. Opposite the new Children’s Centre. I sometimes bring my niece there for my sister. She’s got cystic fibrosis. Sometimes it’s hard for her, you know?”

“Thank you Constable,” Lewis said pointedly. Sophie Mercer could talk for England about her rambling family.

“If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have bought the bribes. Go with the nice lady police officer Lotta. I shouldn’t be long. As salaam alaykum Detective Constable Mercer. Thank you.” The Counsellor smiled the enchanting but sometimes scary smile she’d inherited from one of her fathers.

*  
Constable Ngoti was at Professor Summer’s house, staring at the third strange altar, on the phone. “Yes Sir.

“Thank you so much.

“I’ll send them now.

“I’ll try my best. If I find anything on the computer I’ll get it on a stick and bring it back to you.

“Of course Sir. WPC Amherst giving you all you need?”

As soon as he’d finished his call he made another, this time on his loud speaker as he started opening drawers. “Sophie babe, as soon as Hathaway’s finished with you get over here.”

“Where are you my love? Hey, Lotta... No! Sorry. What was that?”

“The victim’s house. It’s seriously weird. I need your instinctive eye. I can trawl through her papers and computer, but this is way beyond me. I thought voodoo, witchcraft. Am I being too African?”

“Stop being so silly and paranoid! Witchcraft, what the -?”

“I’m not paranoid! Oh, just get here as soon as you can. It feels weird.”

“Sure. I’m just baby sitting one seriously hyper – No! Not backwards! Oh, you did it. Well done. Sorry Mo, I can’t really talk. But I thought of something?”

“What?”

“Do you think Hathaway calls him sir in bed?”

Ngoti laughed. “You are one wicked lady! Which is why I love you, I guess. Get over here as fast as you can Soph.”

 

*

Meanwhile, after hanging up on Ngoti, the man in the incident room called up the CCTV footage from a ten mile radius around the A roads near the hotel. He found a silver car turning into the B road, which led to the lane, which led to the hotel at 0221hrs and followed by a huge four by four, with reflective plates, which gave no number plate. At 0337 hrs the car returned the same way, followed by the same black one.

“Amy, can we trace these cars through the CCTV back to Oxford.”

“I’ll do my best Sir.”

“The computer pinged, informing him of an e-mail. Ngoti’s photos of the victim’s house had arrived.

*

Hathaway followed his boss and the Counsellor into the mortuary and to the room Hobson had locked. She was waiting there.

“You’re late,” snapped Hobson.

“Blame James,” replied Lewis in kind.

“Actually, if you must blame anyone, blame me. Professor Anna Smith-Masters, doctor,” the Counsellor held out her hand and shook Hobson’s firmly, smiling winningly. “I had baby sitting problems.”

“So I see,” Hobson said, glancing at the car seat still in Hathaway’s hand. “Shall we?”

The Counsellor went straight to the table and whipped off the cloth. She touched the temple, examined the wound, and stared at the gills and tiny scales tapping her tooth with her finger.

“H’m. I should know this. From the Merrillon Cluster. Planet kept swapping from the T’Erzani Empire to the Proximi, on the border so to speak. A fiercely patriarchal society, big on religious control. Monotheist. Interesting representations of the Creator as Fire, or alternatively, the sun – their star, a habit which didn’t die when they went intersellar. I have been there, ooh, three hundred years ago now, on a xeno-anthro-theological research mission. That’s before my off-world research grant was cut, of course. But that’s in the future, when they’d just gained independence. Of course, the Trions then moved in, but... One of life’s colonialised rather than colonizers. Probably why religious form and tradition was so big. Quite balanced though, not keen on the free and easy, but not so hot on what you would call fundamentalists either. Probably why... The Cre’Amtors. That’s it! Water dwellers, obviously, but can exist on land. Cities tend to be on coastal areas, with a mixture of on land and underwater. They farm and fish, but don’t eat meat.”

“Sorry. Slow down. You’ve lost me. Cre..?”

“Cre. Am. Tor.”

“Are you saying that religion plays a part in this? Alien religion?” asked Hathaway.

The Counsellor beamed at him. “Such a bright boy. I can’t say for definite, of course. Could be the girlfriend. But yes, a group of more religious extremists moved to Earth to escape persecution decades ago. The injury, looks like a dalpur, a kind of ceremonial stiletto blade, for ordained assassination, the execution of a heretic. Could be an off world. But probably one of her refugee group. They’re not too hot on sex out of wedlock, even less on adultery, and far less on lesbianism.”

“Do you know what this is?” asked Hobson, holding up the bag containing the implement she had removed, thus revealing the professor to be an alien.

The Counsellor took the bag and smiled a wide, broad terrifying grin. “Yes. A type of chameleon, not a holo-emiter, far more complex that that, will essentially change the biology, rewrite in to a certain surface level, but keeping one’s essential biology intact. Various names on various worlds. No point recalling any of them, you don’t have them, and nor do we, for all its simple technology. No, we have something far more pretentious and torturous.”

“You would,” snapped Lewis.

“You are in a bad mood, Inspector. I’d have thought I’d find a total lack of grumpiness.”

“I’m tired.”

“Oh. I bet you are!”

“You never used to pry in peoples’ minds! It’s exceedingly bad mannered.”

“Actually, it was my mind,” Hathaway quickly defended the Counsellor. After all, she’d done it for him. He was late because he’d been drinking and freaking out in his flat.

“I only wanted to know how he was doing, you’re an old hand at this, and I can tell the good doctor here has had some experience,” the Counsellor inclined her head to Hobson, who shrugged slightly with a sad little smile. “I had no idea what I’d hit at the forefront of his mind.”

“Can we focus?” demanded Hobson. “I’m not supposed to be here. So a Cre’Amtor from the Merrillion Cluster. Essentially water dwellers with lungs as well as gills, so can exist on land. Religious,” a nod to Hathaway. “The stiletto knife – the dalpur? Was it inserted in a gland that regulated the switch over from gills to lungs?”

The Counsellor smiled. “Yes. Bright girl. Nice cardigan too, by the way.”

“Thought so. Thank you, by the way.”

“So your best guess, then, would be a religious component? An assassin or honour killing?”

“In a nutshell Inspector. Although, from what your sergeant tells me, you could have a straight forward jealous husband.”

“How would he have known where to stab her?” asked Hobson.

“Good point. A bit of a sticking point, there.”

“So, how do we find her refugee group?”

“Her flat? House? Office? But, obviously, all that’s being done. Of course, how you tell which of her friends and acquaintances are humans and which are alien can be a problem.”

“Yeah, and how do I do that? Don’t you have some Time Lord gizmo?”

“Well, my metabolic scanner I had in the ‘90s, probably what you’re thinking of –” she turned aside to Hobson, “- when I was kidnapped and impregnated by aliens –”

“Counsellor, man! You are trying to annoy me.”

“Sorry Robbie, I don’t get out much. I didn’t mean to make you angry. I can see you’re – well, you are my knight in shining armour,” The Counsellor curtsied very nicely and smiled. “The CD Walkman? Yes, the Doctor ‘borrowed’ it.” The Counsellor gestured the quotation marks with her fingers.

Hathaway, standing at the back, biting his thumbnail, pricked up his ears at the Counsellor’s description of Lewis. ‘Knight in shining armour?’ Yes, that was about right.

“Well, what about any information from her home?” continued the Counsellor, ignoring James’ very loud mind. The boy was sometimes hard to ignore, a high esper human and he didn’t seem to even know it. Must be the Catholic and public school uptight upbringing.

Lewis rubbed his eye and sighed. “I’ve had two constables do the prelim look at the home. Still not tracked down the right people at Brookes to access her office. Of course, Ngoti and Mercer were married last night, so they might be a bit distracted.”

Hobson smirked and looked away. The Counsellor caught her eye and smiled widely. Hobson snorted and looked down.

“What?” demanded Lewis.

“Nothing,” replied Hobson.

“Are they not on leave?” asked the Counsellor, sounding genuinely bewildered.

“It was a Muslim thing, they’re probably saving the leave for the registry office.”

“If it happens. The nikkab could just be so they can shag. Oh. Is it the charming young constable bravely baby sitting my offspring?”

“Yes. She turned up for work this morning in the scarf.”

“Cool.”

“Cool?” echoed Hathaway. “Why?”

“Is it?” asked Lewis, curious as to why the Counsellor would say conversion was cool, annoyed at Hathaway’s reaction.

“I’m all for the blending of cultures, faiths and races, it makes them stronger, and ultimately will make you a stronger, mostly good force in the galaxy. When you get out there.” She stared pointedly at Hathaway.

A thin wail emitted from the car seat. “Well, Inspector, you must excuse me now. Sergeant, fetch my daughter and meet me in the main lobby.” Leaning heavily on her polished walnut wood walking stick for the first time she picked up the car seat and left. Hathaway opened the door and followed her out, taking the car seat from her.

“Straight back to the incident room,” Lewis called to Hathaway’s retreating back. Hathaway gave thumbs up sign.

“Help me secure the body and tidy up Robbie,” said Hobson, touching his arm while he stared after Hathaway.

“Okay Laura. Just give me five minutes to check on Angela Smith, see if she’s okay a while longer in the cafeteria.”

Hobson smiled. “Fine. And you can tell me what is going on with you and James. I’d have thought a bit have sex would put an end to your grumpiness, really. And as for James, what is going on?”

“I really haven’t foggiest.” Lewis slammed the door behind him. Hobson went to the body and started covering it and zipping up the body bag. She suddenly realised she couldn’t find the chameleon artefact anywhere.

*

When James met the Counsellor in the main lobby she was sitting on the sofa, bottle-feeding a very human looking baby of about four or five months old, with honey golden curls and sparkling, shining brown eyes.

“Mama! Is that Emily?”

“Yes dearest girl. I told you mamma would fix it.” She glared up at Hathaway. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said neutrally, staring into space. “I suppose she had no need...” he muttering into the air, not looking at the Counsellor or the baby. Charlotte was sitting next to them, stroking Emily’s hair and cooing at her, telling her she was a beautiful girl.

“Precisely,” replied the Counsellor. “And far better than in Torchwood or UNIT hands either. Such technology could be used for espionage and warfare, don’t you think?”

*

“Is she okay?” asked Hobson, when Lewis returned.

“She’s gone to the chapel. I said I’d be half an hour, at the most. Her medication is wearing off. I need to get her back to the hotel doctor.”

“Poor sausage,” Hobson said sympathetically. “Let’s get this body hidden. I thought the lower basement. Since the opening of the West Wing and Children’s’ Hospital it’s not used for much.

“So?” began Hobson, as they came out of the lift.

Lewis sighed. “What do you want to know?”

“Where do I start? H’m. Why is James limping? What’s the big thing with Sir all of a sudden? Why are you so angry with him? Why does he look like he’d about to burst into tears?”

“That’s a lot of personal questions Laura.”

“You look like you need to talk. Okay, how about this. Who is the Counsellor? How does she know the Doctor? And far more interestingly, what is your guys’ history?”

“You know the Doctor?”

“Once. A long time ago. My introduction to the alien body. You?”

“Never met him, and the connection is something the Counsellor is not proud of and likes to keep secret. Are you going to tell me about you and the Doctor?”

Hobson smiled. “No, I don’t think so. I signed the Official Secrets for one thing, and... You and the Counsellor? Some history, eh? Some tension, too. James didn’t like it.”

Lewis sighed deeply. “James was a virgin, and maybe we got carried away, and maybe I was clumsy first time,” Lewis began, finding easier to talk about his sergeant than his complex friendship with an alien that spanned two regenerations. “I’m not angry with him, Laura, look,” they both paused their conversation to lift the body onto an old morgue drawer from the 1960s. “What is this all this?”

“Built for the nuclear fallout, in the Cold War. You and James?”

“I wasn’t supposed to be investigating a bloody murder! Much less an alien’s murder. I was on leave. Look. This is what I was supposed to be doing.” Lewis pulled out of his pocket a jeweller’s box. He opened it.

Hobson took it and looked in the dark light. Despite the gloom, the diamonds still shone. “For James? You old romantic!”

“I was going to propose, yeah. I’m retiring, we could have kept it secret ‘til then.”

“Do you have engagements for Civil Partnerships?"

“Different names, same thing, right? I’m worried about James, Laura, and to hide it I’m snapping at him. I smelt wine on his breath. It shouldn’t have taken him so long to get to Didcot and back. He’d sorted the baby-sitting, hadn’t he? We needed to have a lazy breakfast in bed, to talk...”

“To propose.”

“Aye, but later. Things got out of hand last night, a bit too heated for him. Well, not at the time, but now he’s alone, remembering...”

“Remembering what?”

“Mind your own business!”

“Well, I hope you were good boys and used condoms. Speaking as your doctor,” Laura smiled.

“I think we moved from the A to the B of safe sex, C not needed.”

“What’s the issue with Sir?”

“Oh, er...” Lewis managed to smile smugly and look embarrassed at the same time. “I made a joke on the way there which somewhere on the way stopped being a joke.”

“What? I’m lost. You can trust me, if you need to talk.”

Lewis sighed again. “I told him if he called me Sir at the hotel, I’d have to spank him.”

“Robbie Lewis! You sly old... But James? James?!”

“Loved it. Loved taking it, loved whatever I did to him, after the first attempt, where he flashbacked to Crevecoeur. It’s scary. I could hurt him, if I was that kind of man and he’d just take it.”

“Did you? Hurt him?”

“I was clumsy, I told you. It’s been a long time... Oh hell, yeah, the last time I just...”

“No wonder the poor boy’s limping. And drowning in Catholic guilt, wouldn’t you say?”

“Well, I’d rather it was his faith screwing with his mind than that bastard Mortmaigne.”

“Both? Those Russians?”

“We needed to curl up in bed and cuddle and talk, not be dealing with dead bodies.”

Hobson shrugged. “That’s life. You have tonight?”

“Oh yes, with an incident room in the hotel, and everyone full of gleeful gossip. I had to threaten Innocent with equal opportunities and anti discrimination laws.”

“Good.” Hobson looked at her watch. “Look at the time. You better get back to your chief witness. Now the body’s gone I can get an orderly to swab the room.”

“Thanks for listening, Laura.”

She smiled. “Anytime. Don’t leave the ring too long, eh?”


	5. A civil partnership thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Propasals offered and accepted. Meanwhile, DI Barnaby finds a prime suspect, knowing nothing of alien weirdness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the fourth AU Season 5 for my daughter. The third is still bedtime story stage, and very complex to write, with 21 murders, only one which counts to Innocent, the others all Town not Gown, and the boys going undercover...
> 
> These stories began as stories made up verbally for my daughter, who has high  
> functioning autism, doesn’t sleep and is obsessed with Lewis. It takes 2-3 Lewis DVDs a night to keep her still and get her to sleep, so on holiday these stories were made up and told by me at night, totally exhausted, changing each time. Last June 2010, unsupported and not coping very well, I stormed out of the house in my wheelchair to the ring road, ready to wheel myself under a truck. Instead, I came home and began to write. I’ve not written fanfic since the 1990s,where I’ve had Star Trek TOS and DS9 and Dr. Who on the net and in zines, under various names. Please be kind to me. Writing these stories down is my only time to myself, as she doesn’t sleep and I’ve been forced to home educate.
> 
> Lewis and Hathaway belong to ITV
> 
> D.I. Barnaby and Midsomer belong to Bentley Productions and ITV
> 
> UNIT, Torchwood and all the Time Lord paraphernalia belong to the BBC
> 
> Oxford is owned by the University Colleges, The Crown, The Church of England, Oxford City Council and Oxfordshire County Council, the later who should be lined up against a wall, or even better, all magically transported into a pain ridden disabled body left caring for an autistic child and see how they cope with their savage cuts to care, support, school and charity funding....

Hathaway’s car was parked in the hotel car park when Lewis arrived but he was not in the incident room when Lewis poked his head round the door. There actually seemed no one about. A WPC came around the corner bearing a tray and nearly bumped into him.

“Whoa! Sorry Sir.”

Lewis took the wobbling tray from her. A bowl of soup and a roll, a blueberry muffin and a cup of tea.

“Where’s this going?”

“Oh, anywhere Sir.”

“Where is everybody?”

“Gone Sir.”

“Gone?”

“SOCOs all gone hours ago, your two DCs in Oxford, at the victim’s house I think. This is for me, I’m doing overtime. Baby sitting the girlfriend. Know who did it yet, Sir?”

“Where’s Hathaway?” Lewis ignored her questions. The uniform had come from the local nick, county bumpkins who found a real life murder incredibly exciting.

“Your, um,” the WPC coughed into her hand. “Your sergeant? Um, in your room.”

“Where do you want this putting?”

“Oh, on this desk, I’m kind of holding down the fort. DC Ngoti got every guest to write a statement and people keep popping in with them. He’s lovely, isn’t he Sir?”

“Can’t say I’ve noticed,” replied Lewis, wondering if this was it, he was officially gay to be asked if he fancied one of his DCs. Well, he did his sergeant, so fair enough. “But DC Mercer obviously does. What’s you name Constable?”

“Amy Amherst Sir.”

“Why don’t you get on home, Amy? I’m sure if Mrs Smith is in need of assistance the hotel can call their doctor again. And I’m here tonight. Although,” he yawned, “hopefully I can get some sleep. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Sir,” she called after him, muttering to herself, “although it’s only a quarter to seven. Then she walked across the room and opened a door. It’s alright Sir. You can come out now. I got you tomato, is that okay? I’ll get on to traffic now for you.”

“Great. Thanks Amy,” replied the man assisting Amy piece together the CCTV and photos Ngoti had sent over, returning to the computer. There were now all her photo files Ngoti had downloaded and forwarded: weddings, picnics, fire ceremonies that seemed weird and cultist...

*

James was sitting on the bed, holding his head and rocking slightly. He looked up as Lewis entered. He automatically jumped up and started to do up his tie. “Sir.”

Lewis made a ‘don’t’ gesture with his hands. “I’m done in. Ngoti and Mercer are still at her house, there’s nothing to be done until the morning.”

“Sir?”

“Right. Ground rules. At work, on duty, whatever time or place, even alone, you call me Sir. Less likely to slip up in front of the Chief Constable or something,” Robbie smiled at his lame joke. “Alone, together, off duty if you call me sir then I’ll take it as an invitation.”

James looked down, blushing.

“Are you okay?”

“Um.”

“I’ve been a right bastard with you.”

“No, no, you...”

“I have. And the stupid thing is I’ve been worried about you, angry with everyone else, the situation, which let’s face it, just got more and more bizarre as the day went on.”

“Well, it has to be the weirdest PM I’ve ever attended,” agreed James. “I don’t normally faint.”

“Morse would, if you could get him anywhere near the body. Was always me. I’ve seen other aliens, alive and dead, but that was a first for me. Scales and gills: weird. Handy, though.”

“What?”

“Gills and lungs.”

“Ngoti sent me these picture.” Hathaway pulled his phone out of his pocket, found the right jpegs and handed it up to Robbie.

In Professor Summer’s house, in the corner of her bedroom, on a three corner table was an altar bearing a statue similar to the victim’s earrings, with two purple candles either side. Downstairs was a poster in the kitchen of a sun above a bird that could have been a phoenix above a fire, all in brilliant reads, oranges, yellows and golds. A huge purple candle stood in front. In the study another small ‘altar’, and a large version in the living room, another poster in the dining room.

“Interesting. What do you think?”

“Well, my auntie, after my uncle died, went incredibly religious. There were altars in every room in the house, Virgin Marys, Crucifixes, Sacred hearts, votive candles. Some Catholics go for that sort of thing. Not many English Catholics...”

“Too scared of being burnt,” chipped in Robbie.

“Not for about four hundred years,” replied James biting back both the laugh and the sir. He carried on, “It’s a very South American, Latin thing, but Indians do it – you know, their own puja area with Ganesh or whoever. Buddhists may have a statue of the Buddha in an area for meditation in the house. Sikhs may have their own copy of the Guru Gransith, which has it’s own ‘bed’, new age pagan hippies make up their own altars, there’s a whole business out there for them...”

“I get the point.”

“Throughout history, too. Every Roman household had it’s own household shrine and gods, for instant.”

“Religion is a factor, I get it. Any more thoughts?”

“Three is significant. Solar disc, a bird and a fire. A primitive view of the Creator, like many ancient religions here, Re in Egypt for example, a bird, an earthly – well, physical creature, an incarnation? Fire, purity, burning away sinfulness, cleansing, guiding... the Holy Spirit?”

“Interesting, but not really relevant.”

“She was until recently very devout, probably very active in her community, perhaps even a leader?”

“Patriarchal, the Counsellor said. Like your lot.”

“Well, there are still all kinds of roles for women in the Catholic Church, you know.”

“Nuns.”

“Not only, no. Pastoral care, Sunday school, admin work, charity works with the homeless, the drug addicts, you know? Bible reading, singing in the choir...”

“Anything except preach and do communion, yeah yeah, very equal, I’m sure.”

“Maybe we’ll find something to connect her to charity work or something when Ngoti and Mercer have finished.”

“Maybe.”

“Are you alright with it, sir? Ngoti and Mercer?”

“What am I, a bloody hypocrit? And you said sir.”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“Are you okay, James? Forget the case, forget that fact our victim’s a blue fish alien fundamentalist lesbian...”

James started laughing, on the edge of hysteria. “That’s not easy.”

Robbie sat down and put his arms around him. James leant into him. “This isn’t what I planned. We should have all day to just be together, talk if you needed to. Last night was...”

“Wonderful,” James said flatly.

“Sure?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t know. After the first time it felt fucking fantastic. And scary. Like nothing...” He covered his face with his hands. “All day I’ve been asking myself what kind of person am I? I loved it. All of it. In all these years, in the abstract, knowing that it was something part of me desired, that was what I hated about myself. But...”

“It felt right?” Robbie started to rub James’ back. “Safe? You weren’t really scared, were you? I’d never hurt you.”

“What if I wanted you to?” James looked at him with fierce eyes.

“I’d have to think about that,” Robbie replied honestly. “Tonight, I just need to sleep pet. I never slept all night.” He yawned again. “What... What do you think about Ngoti and Mercer? Oh forget it, I don’t want some big theological discussion on conversion.”

“I don’t think she loves Allah, just Muhammad Ngoti, and there’s a big difference.”

Robbie smiled. “Maybe, maybe not. I think love is good. I’m going to have a bath, have something to eat and then sleep, if that’s okay by you?”

“Yeah,” James said in a small voice. “It’s not like a Christian marriage, you know, a Muslim wedding, it’s a social contract not a holy vow. You know, like a registry office or...” he went on in the same small voice.

“James.” Robbie strode back across the carpet from the bathroom door and knelt in front of him.

“What are you doing?”

Robbie fumbled for his pocket, fingers trembling. “I brought this with me, for the weekend, I hadn’t planned... I mean, I had, but not like this and...” He switched to being just one knee and opened the jeweller’s box.

James stared at the ring.

“James?”

“What?”

“Will you say yes?”

“Yes to what?” James asked, a smile in his words.

“Will you... God it sounds so clunky. Will you enter into civil partnership with me? Oh fuck, forget that. Will you marry me?”

James nodded silently.

“Was that a yes?”

“Yes,” James croaked out, voice hoarse with emotion.

“Good.” Robbie pulled the ring from the box and put in on James’ left hand’s ring finger.

James stared at the ring. “It fits.”

“I can get finger prints and DNA samples from suspects without them noticing, measuring your finger was easy.” Since James still seemed to sit there in front of him, frozen, Robbie prompted, “Now is the time you hold your hand to the light and watch the sparkle.”

James did as he was told, but as the diamonds glinted in the last rays of the sunset and the electric light, he smiled. “Wow.” He leant forward and kissed Robbie. “Thank you. I’ve been figuring out a way to ask you all day and you already had...” he was interrupted by Robbie kissing him again.

Robbie got up. “And now I’m really going to have that bath. Will you order us something to eat from room service, love?”

*

The following morning Hathaway debated long and hard about the ring, and in the end settled on wearing it. He noticed Mrs Barnaby was breakfasting alone with a face as black as thunder. Lewis ate the full English, much happier after a decent night sleep. Hathaway, on the other hand, hadn’t slept much. Ravished and drunk, the previous night had been easy to sleep, but he wasn’t used to sharing a bed. He lay looking out at the stars, wondering if one of them was Professor Summer’s sun, and whether you could see the Counsellor’s point of origin. He had tried so very hard not to think of what had happened the previous night, not to over analyse the sex, his responses, his needs, because that was scary, but he did anyway, ending back, in a tortuous thought process, to the Summerhouse at Crevecoeur. He tried distracting himself with the case, but in the unchained flow of the tired subconscious alien refugees led to people trafficking led to Sergei and Yuri and being drugged and raped, still so patchy in his memory he ended back in Summerhouse. In the end he thought he could maybe embrace it, write it down and sell it with a pretty photo in black and white of a little blond boy at a piano looking out off the book shelves in supermarkets with big, sad eyes... half stoned on lack of sleep he’d just drifted into sleep when the alarm went and Robbie was talking to him about sorting out the admin staff at Brookes as soon as.

“Right,” Lewis said, bringing Hathaway back to the present. “If you’re just going to pick at that croissant, let’s get going.” He stood up and walked off, obviously expecting Hathaway to follow.

In the incident room Detective Constable Ngoti was stood over someone at a computer. WPC Amherst was stood the other side. Mercer was sitting on another desk, swinging her legs, encased in baggy black trousers, seemingly going through the statements from the hotel guests and staff. Lewis remembered wistfully when those swinging legs had been in tights with the shortest of skirts. She had a blue shirt and scarf on today. No one else seemed to be about.

Mercer stood up. “Sir, I’ve got hold of the Bursar. She’s meeting us at Gypsy Lane Campus at nine.”

“Good work Sophie. Well, you and Ngoti had better step to it then.”

“Sir,” she smiled over at Ngoti who came over and they left.

As they did so, Hathaway over heard Ngoti whisper, “Definitely does.” She sniggered and looked over her shoulder at him. Definitely does what, he wondered?

Lewis, meanwhile had noticed who was at the computer and strode over immediately, his previous good mood vanishing.

“I said we didn’t need the help, Mr. Barnaby.”

“Inspector Lewis. Good. Well, you seemed so shorted staffed, Amy here had been alone for most of yesterday so I just made a start on the routine stuff. If you look here we have two cars approaching the hotel just before half past two, and leaving at just after half past three. I’ve spent all night tracking both cars. This one returns to Headington. He stopped at lights just outside Kidlington with a camera, so I was able to capture this image –”

He pointed to the computer. A man in perhaps his fifties, silvering black hair and goatee and thick-rimmed glasses was driving. He was alone in the car.

“- and here, among the many photos of Professor Summer Ngoti sent me –”

The same man was at a wedding, which appeared to be his own, officiated by some kind of ‘priest’ in deep purple robes with a hood. Barnaby hit the key pad, more photos, at some ceremony in front of fire with a baby, picnics, parties, other ceremonies all involving the same group of people, the same five ‘priests’ or ‘monks’ or whatever they were.

“She was obviously involved in some form of new age cult. They’re mostly very jealous of outside involvement of strangers, and as you know, I’m sure are very aware of, most religions and cults take a dim view of homosexuality or adultery or both.”

“You’ve found me a Prime Suspect. I must apologise. And thank you.”

“That’s not all,” Barnaby hit the keyboard again. This time he showed the progress of the black car. “No plates. They reflect. Darkened windows. Very sinister. Like some secret government agency...”

“I know that car,” said Hathaway, “It belongs to Captain Jack Harkness. I met him at the Counsellor’s, yesterday.” Hathaway flushed. Lewis, preoccupied, didn’t noticed.

“The Counsellor. Right.” Lewis was grim. The Counsellor obviously knew more than she had been prepared to share. He stormed out of the room.

“Where are you going?” called Hathaway.

“Didcot,” Lewis answered.

“Almost in Midsomer,” Barnaby said quietly, following Lewis to the door. “Watch yourself,” he said softly to Lewis. “I recognise that name. Torchwood.”

“I hear you.” And Lewis was gone.


	6. An arrest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An arrest is made, evidence is gathered, Hathaway is used most cruelly by Lewis' strange friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the fourth AU Season 5 for my daughter. The third is still bedtime story stage, and very complex to write, with 21 murders, only one which counts to Innocent, the others all Town not Gown, and the boys going undercover...
> 
> These stories began as stories made up verbally for my daughter, who has high  
> functioning autism, doesn’t sleep and is obsessed with Lewis. It takes 2-3 Lewis DVDs a night to keep her still and get her to sleep, so on holiday these stories were made up and told by me at night, totally exhausted, changing each time. Last June 2010, unsupported and not coping very well, I stormed out of the house in my wheelchair to the ring road, ready to wheel myself under a truck. Instead, I came home and began to write. I’ve not written fanfic since the 1990s,where I’ve had Star Trek TOS and DS9 and Dr. Who on the net and in zines, under various names. Please be kind to me. Writing these stories down is my only time to myself, as she doesn’t sleep and I’ve been forced to home educate.
> 
> Lewis and Hathaway belong to ITV
> 
> The Ewok belongs to George Lucas
> 
> D.I. Barnaby and Midsomer belong to Bentley Productions and ITV
> 
> UNIT, Torchwood and all the Time Lord paraphernalia belong to the BBC
> 
> The Counsellor and Lady Julian College is copyrighted and used with kind permission. The offspring and the situation is all my own invention.
> 
> Oxford is owned by the University Colleges, The Crown, The Church of England, Oxford City Council and Oxfordshire County Council, the later who should be lined up against a wall, or even better, all magically transported into a pain ridden disabled body left caring for an autistic child and see how they cope with their savage cuts to care, support, school and charity funding....

Lewis hammered on the Counsellor’s door. An insistent policeman’s knock. She opened it on the latch, nervously.

“Oh. It’s you Inspector.” She closed the door to take off the chain and opened it again, an attempt at a welcoming beam, but there was a tiredness in her eyes that could be to do with her mysterious ill health or more likely, to do with acquiring a baby foster daughter on top of a hyperactive biological one. “Come in.”

As usual, or at least, usual for the few times Lewis had visited, barbies, plastic baby toys and papers, felt tips, paints and pencils littered the floor, along with the remains of breakfast and yesterday’s supper.

“Sit down,” she said, picking up a pile of painted rainbows and suns. She was just in a white cotton nightie and a fleecy blanket wrapped around as a shawl. “Sorry about the mess. Have I offended you? Please don’t shout at me, the children are asleep and I really need this... What? What have I done?” she looked up at him with big green eyes swimming with unshed tears of loneliness, pain, exhaustion, despair.

Lewis sat down, sighing. “Yes, I’m angry,” he hissed. “I thought we were friends. I’ve always trusted you. What is it with the secrets?”

“Did James tell you? The sneaky b-”

“Tell me what Counsellor?”

“The chameleon bio-tech. I needed it. Well, Professor Summer has no need. I know if it had landed on Torchwood’s desk it would have come back to me, but I couldn’t risk UNIT, or worse, the Consortium... Can you imagine better camouflage for spy?”

“Laura mentioned she couldn’t find it. The baby? It’s, what, an alien? Needed to blend in, did it?”

“Yes, she does. Sorry.”

“That’s not why I’m here, but I’ll tell Dr. Hobson. No, why didn’t you tell me what was going on? You saw the body, but you already knew, didn’t you? Who are you hiding? Why? You abhor... Oh hell!”

“Robbie Lewis, I haven’t the faintest idea what you are talking about. Apart from hosting a joint literature conference in the early ‘90s where the Professor represented Brookes, or the Poly as it was then, which, fair enough, I didn’t mention because I didn’t remember yesterday.”

“Captain Jack Harkness. Torchwood.”

“Brought me Emily. Why, what about dear ‘Uncle’ Jack?”

“What?”

“That’s what I’m saying. Short history. Above Cardiff is a stonking great temporal-spatial rift, a rip in space-time, if you will. I blame my father, but I have little evidence. In a galaxy far, far away, long, long ago a little family cruiser gets pulled into the rip and crashes in the Brecon Beacons. One survivor. A baby. Ursa sapiens. A small baby bear. Jack doesn’t want her to be kept underground, so he brings her here, on the lookout for a holo-emitter or bio-dampner or bio-perception filter or...”

“And that’s why he was here?”

“He brought her last week. Every time we go out we have to pray she keeps still and people think she’s Lotta’s teddy bear. What’s Jack got to do with the price of fish...? Ooh. Sorry. That was a bit sick.”

“His car was seen turning towards the hotel just before the murder, and leaving just after. He seemed to be following another car. He’s at the very least a chief witness, if not a suspect.”

“Why would he kill her? For over a 100 years Jack’s been the only one in Torchwood to leave peaceful immigrants and visitors alone. Why turn on one now?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

They were disturbed by a thin, high-pitched wail. The Counsellor pulled a face and got up, heading to the kitchen where she put on the kettle and reached for a tin of WySoy baby formula. “I’m busy.”

“Mamma!” Charlotte came down the stairs carrying a honey coloured teddy bear, except this teddy bear was moving, screaming and waving tiny paws with fingers and opposable thumbs, each ending in a razor sharp black claw.

“Charlotte!”

“Oops!” Charlotte ran her hand gently over the baby’s chest and there was a blue flash followed by a shimmering like a heat wave on the horizon and suddenly in her arms lay a baby with honey coloured curls.

“I’d better leave you to it. I can see you have your hands full. Just... If you can, get Captain Harkness to contact me, otherwise I’ll have to go to my boss and go through C19 channels.”

“I’ll see what I can do Inspector.”

Blue flash? Thought Lewis as he walked to his car, something chiming in his memory. He’d just unlocked the car as he remembered seeing the same flash just as he’s gazed, sleepless, out of the window. He ran back to the Counsellor’s.

*

As soon as Hathaway had received Lewis’ call he knocked on Miss Humphrey’s door.

“Oh. Hello Sergeant. How can I help?”

“You told Inspector Lewis you thought you’d heard something, perhaps a scrabbling. In light of the complete absence of forensics to back up anyone attempting to climb the outside wall, or indeed stand under the balcony...”

“You had better come in Sergeant. Will you please put the kettle on for me? You’ll find a pot and the finest Lapsang Soushong. I hate hotel tea bags and the whole dunking tea bag experience, don’t you? I always bring my own tea pot and cafetiere, along with my favourite blends.”

Hathaway busied himself with making tea as he asked, “Does a blue flash ring any bells, Miss Humphrey?”

“Ah yes. I wonder how you...?”

“The victim was fitted with an implant, which when our pathologist removed emitted a blue flash before a shimmering light and our victim changed. Know anything about that would you?”

“Your murderer is a gentleman from the Merillion Cluster. A Cre’Amtor, an air breathing bipedal, upright fish. He switched off his bio-filter and fitted anti-grav packs and floated up to the poor girl’s balcony past my window. He didn’t see me. A man parked in the shadows of the trees and watched him, but did nothing. A human, or at least his appearance was such, in an army coat, a lovely stylish one from the 1940s. Even at such a distance I could tell he was such a handsome young man.” She patted her hair. Hathaway had laid the coffee table with teapot, cups and saucers, hotel packets of sugar and milk. “I don’t see how I can help you. We can’t have all that written in a witness statement, can we?”

“What are you doing here?”

“A little holiday.”

“On Earth?”

“Well, I live on Earth all the time, now. A little village in Midsomer. I’m afraid I’m a refugee. You see, there was this war, a very big war. My home was, is, will be obliterated, except, not quite, hidden...” Miss Humphrey, if indeed that was her name, pulled a hanky from her sleeve and blew her nose. She made an effort to smile. “Will you be mother, please?”

“Certainly.”

“This case has certainly opened your eyes somewhat, hasn’t it sergeant?”

“You could say that.”

“Whereas your boss, or do I mean lover-“

Hathaway lifted the teapot to pour. Sun reflected on the three diamonds set in his new ring.

“-or rather, fiancé... Congratulations. Well, he has some experience of extra terrestrials, I am inclined to rather think. You’re scowling, young man. It’s not a look that suits you.”

“Inspector Lewis wants justice. I can’t see how we can prove... without revealing the alien connection, of course, which I’m informed won’t be possible.”

“No. Of course. Your people have an amazing capacity for self-deception when it comes to matters of not being alone. But I have the feeling I have offended you?”

“You referred to me as my boss’ catamite.”

“My dear boy, was it not an accurate description? Am I not underneath your room? Did you indulge in anything other than intercourse? Did you play swapsies? No.”

“Accurate about 600 years ago, but still offensive.”

“Better than bitch.”

“How about it is really none of your business, Miss Humphrey?”

“You boys kept me awake. Now, since I was a witness to your murderer, I suppose we can count that as a blessing. As I said you are looking for a male Cre’Amtor. For him to revert I would hazard a guess there was a ceremonial aspect to the killing.”

“So we’ve already been informed. And we have the man’s number plate, so providing he’s not a visitor but a resident and the car belongs to him, we will find him. But...”

“But proof is a problem?”

“Yes Miss Humphrey, I couldn’t agree more.”

*

Lewis was on the phone when Hathaway returned to the incident room. Ngoti and Barnaby were still going through the CCTV road footage or Professor Summer’s files, Mercer and Amherst were collating the hotel statements, looking for anything referencing blue flashes, noises, cars arriving or leaving late. Of the two PCs there was still no sign. Lewis was wrapping up his call.

“No. Well, thanks again. I have your number.

“You sure?

“Thank you. I’ll inform Dr. Hobson and Mrs Smith”

Lewis laughed a flirtatious laugh. Hathaway scowled. “Sure. So you’ll send me all the surveillance details.

“Right. I have your number.

“Bye Jack.” He laughed again. Hathaway scowled again. Lewis looked up from the desk as he hung up. “There you are. Come on.”

“Where to?”

“Back to Oxford. Mr. Darcy Gould, apparently. But you can bet that’s not his real name. Let’s go see what he has to say for himself.”

“Sure Sir. Just a minute. Amherst?"

“Yes Sir?”

“Where are your two colleagues? They should have been here all day.”

“Called away sir. Some yobs up out Rollright way, shooting squirrels with air guns, in woodland down the back of the council estate. They were on their way back when some kids out towards Chipping Sodbury ended their joy ride into a combine. Mashed up all over the road. On a narrow strip with no passing places either.”

“Oh.”

“The joys of country policing sergeant,” Tom Barnaby said. “You’ll find there’s more guns in one red brick 1950s council estate hidden at the back of the most prettiest village that in an urban city area, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“Lots of anti social behaviour too, Sir.”

“Lots.”

“Boredom, mostly.

“Foul hate too.”

“What? You mean racial. Yeah. This family moved in back of my Nan’s. Paki..stanis. Stayed a month before they moved back to Oxford. Dog shit through their letterbox. Bins emptied on the garden. Car scratched. You know who’s doing it and you can’t prove it.”

“Not just the council houses and the tied cottages, either. Listen to most nice, respectable villagers talk about their black neighbours you’d think it was 1950.”

“Then there’s all the Twocking.”

“Lots of twocking,” agreed Barnaby mildly.

“No blinking bus service is there Sir?”

“And every village’s dealer might as well be a member of Mensa, for all the proof you can find. Drunks and drink and mindless vandalism. What else is there to do but steal a car and go for a joy ride?”

“Going to get worse sir. No jobs, benefits cut for turning down jobs but you turn ‘em down coz there’s no bus and without a job you can’t afford a car as the petrol goes up...”

Lewis rubbed his eye and signalled for Hathaway to follow him. “Twocking?” Hathaway mouthed at his boss.

“Taking without owner’s consent, as it car theft. Well, we’re off Amy. Tom.”

“Lovely ring,” Barnaby called to Hathaway’s retreating back.

*

Darcy Gould was tall, taller than Hathaway, but slightly stooped. Black hair greying at the temples and in his beard, although both Lewis and Hathaway were aware that this graceful aging was a mere illusion. The Counsellor or Miss Humphrey could have explained it was far more complex than that, and that the surface levels of appearance and DNA were subtly changed and the image would reflect the true aging. They would also explain, that in such a long lived species, such apparent outside appearance of middle age would indicate the man had lived an exceedingly long time, and to him a human D.I. and his sergeant/lover/betrothed were but irritating toddlers.

However, it was clear to Lewis and Hathaway that Mr. Darcy Gould, barrister, recently married and even more recently a father, was lying. They had over whelming evidence to support that.

First, he claimed not to have been out. When it was pointed out he’d been picked up by CCTV he claimed he’d been driving around with his baby, who was teething, colicky and not sleeping, to give his wife a break. His wife, to all appearances, was much younger than him and also terrified of him, backing up both of his stories, mechanically but convincingly. Lewis and Hathaway were not convinced.

Lewis decided it was time to call the Chief.

Two hours later they returned with a warrant, arrested Mr. Darcy Gould and uniform searched the house and car. Similar evidence of the ‘strange fire/sun worship cult turned up, along with a blue bag containing two tiny electronic devices, some kind of pack that looked like an oxygen cylinder but lighter and smaller, all part blue crystalline as well as technical, and a small cylindrical tube, about the size of a cigarette lighter, that when a button was flipped at the bottom a very thin, incredibly sharp blade shot up, and presumably into someone, if pushed in unreleased. Ultra violet showed traces of a blood like substance, except the ‘blood’ was too blue.

Lewis sat on the haul in their office for two hours, leaving Gould to stew in the cells.

Hathaway sighed, turning one of the electronic devices in his blue-gloved hand.

“What are we going to do with all this? Sir.”

“It’s Robbie.”

“Not according to your rules. Well, Sir?”

“I’m thinking.”

“Fine.” The phone rang. “Hathaway.

“Yes. Lots.

“Complicated.

“Ma’am.” He looked at Lewis. “The Chief’s on her way back, on a Sunday evening. You had better come up with some earthly evidence or a plausible explanation by the time’s she’s here.” He stared. “Sir.”

“Right. You take the murder weapon to Hobson. I’ll call her, get her to meet you at the JR. Then get down to Didcot with the rest. Let’s find out how he got up there, at least.”

“And you?”

“I’m going through the files Captain Harkness sent me.”

“He made a pass at me,” Hathaway said, testing the water.

“From what I could gather on the phone, he’ll make a pass at anyone with a pulse.” Lewis caught Hathaway’s scowl. “Not that I’m saying you’re not worth making a pass at, because you are, drop dead gorgeous. If you asking me if I’m jealous, then no, of course I’m not. I can trust you, can’t I? Go on, get on with you.”

Hathaway stood at the doorway for a moment then left, saying “Sir,” as he did so. As he walked through he heard the shriek of laughter.

“I bet he does!” the DC was saying to the WPC.

Hathaway made sure they could see his ring as he walked past by making his feelings clear about being the butt of jokes in the time honoured traditional hand gesture.

*

“One condition, sergeant,” demanded the Counsellor. She grabbed the evidence bag and went upstairs.

“What?” he called.

“Tidy up. Wash up. Hoover.”

“Take me swimming,” added Charlotte.

“He doesn’t have time dear girl, but I’m sure the sergeant will come back as soon as he’s not busy.” Hathaway made a mental note to be busy until Charlotte grew up or left Earth.

“Counsellor,” he called up the stairs, but he heard a definite bang.

“That’s the TARDIS. It’s sick, too. Mamma says it’s got to re-grow. I don’t know how you re-grow, you either grow or you don’t.”

“Very logical. Why don’t you put your pictures in a pile and pick up your felt tips.”

“Can’t!”

“I’m sure you can.”

“Can’t can’t can’t! Bitch pig!” Now, this was the side of Charlotte he’d experienced in the summer, the side the Counsellor didn’t believe. She came up to him and kicked him.

“Why don’t you go out on your trampoline and I’ll tidy up. You’ll wake your new sister if you carry on. And that, by the way, is assaulting a police officer. A very serious offence.”

“So sue me,” Charlotte responded, probably quoting something she’d heard on TV. She banged the back door.


	7. A funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Resolutions. Prosecutions. Funeral pyre. Poetry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the fourth AU Season 5 for my daughter. The third is still bedtime story stage, and very complex to write, with 21 murders, only one which counts to Innocent, the others all Town not Gown, and the boys going undercover...
> 
> These stories began as stories made up verbally for my daughter, who has high  
> functioning autism, doesn’t sleep and is obsessed with Lewis. It takes 2-3 Lewis DVDs a night to keep her still and get her to sleep, so on holiday these stories were made up and told by me at night, totally exhausted, changing each time. Last June 2010, unsupported and not coping very well, I stormed out of the house in my wheelchair to the ring road, ready to wheel myself under a truck. Instead, I came home and began to write. I’ve not written fanfic since the 1990s,where I’ve had Star Trek TOS and DS9 and Dr. Who on the net and in zines, under various names. Please be kind to me. Writing these stories down is my only time to myself, as she doesn’t sleep and I’ve been forced to home educate.
> 
> Lewis and Hathaway belong to ITV
> 
> The Ewok belongs to George Lucas
> 
> D.I. Barnaby and Midsomer belong to Bentley Productions and ITV
> 
> UNIT, Torchwood and all the Time Lord paraphernalia belong to the BBC
> 
> The Counsellor and Lady Julian College is copyrighted and used with kind permission. The offspring and the situation is all my own invention.
> 
> Oxford is owned by the University Colleges, The Crown, The Church of England, Oxford City Council and Oxfordshire County Council, the later who should be lined up against a wall, or even better, all magically transported into a pain ridden disabled body left caring for an autistic child and see how they cope with their savage cuts to care, support, school and charity funding....

Lewis, meanwhile, was stood in Chief Super Intendent Innocent’s office, explaining as far as he could about sinister new age cults that worshipped fire, the sun and a phoenix, about how they had two witnesses to the murderer, an old lady who had seen him climb the building,

“Despite the complete lack of forensics to substantiate this. The word of one frail old lady isn’t going to be much in court, Lewis,” Innocent interrupted.

“And a quasi government agent, who had had the man under surveillance for his own reasons,” Lewis continued.

“Who won’t testify in court, and in fact, is surely an accessory after the fact and he could have prevented this murder, if he so chose.”

“I know ma’am. I’ve got Hathaway calling in favours to hurry through the forensics. My hope is he won’t realise how shaky the evidence will appear in court. If I put on enough pressure I may frighten out a confession.”  
*

Hathaway was sitting in the doorway of his car, smoking, when his phone rang. It was Hobson.

“Yup?”

“Her blood on the blade, and hormonal secretions from the gland. Got a weird set of prints off the knife, must be his true form.”

“We’ve taken prints, naturally. One wonders is they stay the same, despite the outward change.”

“Well, that’s up to you and Lewis. I’ve done my bit. I’ll send him the prints.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ll see you soon.”

Hathaway immediately dialled Lewis.

“Where are you?”

“Didcot, Sir.”

“Still, hell man, what have you been up to? I need you back here now with that info.”

“That is why I’m ringing. And as for what I’m doing... I was being an unpaid skivvy and nursemaid, if you must know. Amazing how it took the Counsellor exactly the same time to examine those artefacts as it took me to tidy and clean the whole house, feed and amuse her daughter and do a load of washing and hang it. Sir.”

“Why doesn’t she just move into the TARDIS, now she has it back? For heaven’s sake!”

“She’s your friend, Sir. Pretty intense kind of friendship, it seems to me. Care to tell me the history?”

“Jealous are you?” Hathaway could hear the smile in Lewis’ voice. “Later. One day. You have nothing to worry about. Tell me. What did she say?”

Hathaway consulted his note book, reading from it, “The largest item: one anti grav pack, as witnessed by the strange Miss Humphrey. One bio-locator. Um, loaded with the victim’s DNA and will locate her. Or him. The second, a bio-locator that attaches to a sat nav. Well, a shipboard computer navigation array, usually. Apparently. Oh sir. Hobson phoned. Summer’s blood on the blade. Finger prints on the holder. She’s e-mailing them to you, I think.”

“Yep, can see one here. Thanks. Just get back here, I’m ready to interview. Fast as you can. This is an emergency.”

“You want me to put the light on? Sir! Isn’t that taking the piss?”

“This case has been one big piss take from end to end. I can’t tell you how much I had to mangle the truth to Innocent. See you as soon as. If not before.”

*

Innocent poked her head out of her office as Hathaway walked past.

“James. Have you a minute?”

“Well, not really ma’am.”

“I’m just about to leave. I have a husband to appease. This won’t take long.”

“Ma’am.”

In her office Innocent pointed to the chair in front of her desk. Hathaway sat.

“I won’t lie to you James, I’m seriously thinking of getting you transferred.”

“What?”

“An affair with your boss. At the very least you need a new D. I. but I can’t think of any vacancies, and if I did, I can’t think any one who’d take you.”

“It’s less than a year to Inspector’s Lewis’s retirement, can’t I..?”

“I’d have to think about that. I was thinking of you. There’s the gossip.”

“They’ll get bored. And are you telling me if a D.I. doesn’t want a gay sergeant you just let him get his way, because that, ma’am, is illegal.”

“It’s more your baggage, you have lied directly on two previous cases, you’re a smart, supercilious bastard and most of my D.I.s didn’t get A levels, let alone any thing else.”

“Ma’am.”

“Having an affair with your boss is against regulations, James.”

“Why are you having a go at me? What about Robbie?”

“Robbie Lewis was a happily married man.”

“Are you accusing me of..? No. Not possible. Besides, it isn’t an affair. Hopefully, Robbie Lewis will be a happily married man again. Look. Look what he gave me! Just look!” Hathaway thrust his left fist under Innocent’s nose. “Now, if I’m not transferred from immediate effect, my boss is waiting for me to interview our prime suspect.” He glared at her for a few seconds before adding, “Ma’am.”

Innocent stood up, about to reprimand him then decided better of it. After all, these two got results, and usually fast. “Fine. Go find your Inspector. And James,” she called as he opened the door, “I suppose congratulations are in order.”

*

Lewis stood at the back of the room. James sat in front of Gould, laying out the shaky evidence they had gathered. Cameras were off. Tapes were off. The door to the room behind the mirror locked. Innocent had gone home. Late, very late, Sunday night. A skeleton staff in the station.

“Surveillance of you arriving and leaving from CCTV. Separate surveillance from someone following you,” began Hathaway.

“Torchwood,” supplied Lewis, watching him flinch.

“Witness statements of a lady who saw you get up to the balcony. Your, er, little useful tool in our custody. A witness who saw you leap off the balcony, another who saw the flash as you changed back in to – your current persona.”

“Changed back form what? Are you cracked?”

Lewis took a penknife out of his pocket. “Now, if I were to insert this here, right of the breast bone...”

“You can’t. That’s so far off the scale in human rights abuse...”

“Human. Yes. Exactly. When my superiors find me with a blue fish person, a Cre’Amtor is it?”

“We have evidence to convict you Mr. Gould.”

“You don’t.”

“Well, in point of fact we do,” Lewis said, leaning back against the wall.

“Except, as you know, Torchwood will not testify, and as for the other evidence, your planet’s technology, we won’t be allowed to present it to court. I expect that’s what you’re banking on. Who will believe on old lady who saw you turn blue and fly? Is that it?”

“Of course, the very thing that stops us presenting the evidence means we are under direct instructions to hand over all we have –” Lewis walked over and leant over the table, “All we have!” he emphasized, “to UNIT and Torchwood. What will they do with him, do you think Sergeant?”

“Well, I’m no expert, but Torchwood will just lock him underground, in an oublet.”

“With the Weevils,” added Lewis, who’d had a second conversation with Harkness.

“UNIT of course, go in for execution or vivisection.”

“Both, of course.”

“Nasty, isn’t it Sir?”

“Very. Much easier to confess, acting on your own, protect your community, your wife and baby visit you, time of for good behaviour...”

“Twenty years, at the most, I would say Sir.”

“Alright!” Gould shouted. “I killed her! It was a penitence. The holy fathers chose me. An atonement for my wife and child...”

“They’re... they’re human?” Hathaway asked, amazed.

“My wife is, yes. It was my atonement. Indigo was my friend, but she chose a human woman over the Way.”

“So did you,” pointed out Lewis.

“I’m male,” snapped Gould. “And I didn’t have to leave the Way. Not after they accepted her conversion.”

The three men sat in silence for a while.

“Here’s what we do,” said Lewis. “I unlock us, switch on the video and audio and we do this again. You confess to a homophobic hate crime, inspired by your new age cult. You climbed the wall to get in. I have a witness who will testify to hearing you. I saw you jump, sleepless as I was, and so did Angela Smith. You get 20, maybe 15 years. The finger prints and blood match on the murder weapon.”

“What if I refuse to cooperate?”

“I get my sergeant to call in UNIT.”

*

 

By three o’clock Monday morning it was all over, Gould remanded for manslaughter, his homophobia and alcohol got the better of him, seeing a once respected member of his religious community seduced by a younger woman. Lewis and Hathaway sat in the station cafeteria, drinking lousy machine coffee and eating vending machine chocolate.

“So what now Sir?”

A laugh came back from the back of the room. Hathaway turned and glared at the two cleaners.

“I think we need to reappraise your Sir rule, Robbie.”

“Not in the nick, sergeant.”

“Yes, in the fucking nick. There’s a running joke going around that I call you sir in bed.”

“But you do,” said Lewis and then started laughing happily, a dirty laugh.

*

The sun was setting over the power stations lighting up the steam from the six cooling towers in exotic pinks, reds and purples. Charlotte walked away carrying her little sister, for once doing exactly as she was told, showing her the cloud factory on fire as the Counsellor stood at the top of the pyre she, Lewis and Hathaway had spent all day building on the Wittingham Clumps, tucked away from the main car parks and footpaths. Hobson had arrived half an hour ago, bringing the body. Lewis met her at the car park. There were no witnesses. The weather had broken, the brief Indian summer at an end, a cold north wind and a permanent drizzle kept everyone’s hands and faces chilled. The Counsellor had doused the pyre unobtrusively with petrol.

Angela arrived just as the last rays disappeared over the horizon.

The Counsellor, Gallifrey’s leading, in fact, only xeno-theologian, began.

“Oh Great Flame, Spark of the Universe, in Whose Explosion we began, accept the soul of Thy servant Indigo.” She handed Angela the burning torch she’d lit. “Walk around seven times,” she whispered, “then light it.”

Angela did so, and as she did so the Counsellor intoned, “From Water to Fire, from Fire to Light, from Light to Purity. We free your soul to join the one of Light.”

The fire blazed for hours. Lewis fetched a couple of blankets and put one on the ground and one around Angela. Hobson had brought flasks of tea, sandwiches and fairy cakes. Charlotte ate most of the cakes. The Counsellor brought paper birds and fish to scatter on the ashes, and a meal of tiny fish, delicately spiced with harissa paste, the closest she could get to the dr’ez fire spice of funerals on Cre’Amtor. She also brought Wysoy, mixed, and nappies. After being fed, Emily fell asleep. As she was placed in the car seat the Counsellor whispered, “I honour your memory friend that this new life has a safe chance.” James caught her eye and smiled.

“When my TARDIS is healed, allow me to give you boys your honeymoon,” she offered. James’ eyes widened in alarm and trepidation, but Robbie smiled,

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Angela went to sleep leaning on Laura. Charlotte curled up next to her mother and slept, head on her lap, while the Counsellor gently rocked the car seat. Robbie and James, sat, hand in hand, staring at the flames.

“You got what you wanted.”

“Uh?” Robbie was in a funk, gazing at the flames.

“Justice and a funeral.

“Red darkness of the heart of roses,  
Blue brilliant from the dead starless skies  
And gold that lies behind the eyes  
The unknown unnameable sightless white,  
That is the essential flame of the night,” James quoted.

“That’s beautiful,” murmured Angela’s from the depths of Laura’s cardigan and Robbie’s blanket. “Makes me think of Indie.”

“Rupert Brooke,” said the Counsellor, “lovely chap.”

James made an embarrassed cough, “It’s called The Fish.”

“Robbie Lewis, you have landed on your feet. Keep him. Cherish him. Don’t ever lose him,” the Counsellor said fiercely.

“Seconded,” said Laura.

“Oh, I intend to,” Robbie replied. “Look, the sun is coming up.”

Indeed it was, a gentle glowing gold, rising above the first high ridge of the Chiltern Hills, caressing the Thames Valley and the Ridgeway, the few villages and Causton, nestling in the distance of the mist rising river valley, setting fire to the red gold of the beech trees clinging to Watlington Hill and Christmas Common in the yellow gold of the sun’s first rays of an Autumn dawn.

 

END


End file.
